Prompted by a video in my Youtube recommendations, I contemplate moments when I've felt the most alive.

I stop to think about everything I've ever done; to begin to think such a thought is overwhelming. Both harrowing and serene, which is to say I'm left having gotten absolutely nowhere.
If anything, I'm left feeling hollow, because it's all in the past.
All of those moments are gone and all I have is a mere memory of them; sometimes a picture, sometimes a receipt or plane ticket, sometimes a dried-up baby wipe and map of the night sky, sometimes a line in a song, a line in a poem, a line on my skin.
I'm just looking for an answer that satisfies me.

I begin to realize that all of the contending moments my mind is sorting through have a common theme.
Literally. During all of my "most alive" moments I was listening to music.
A single song repeating repeating repeating repeating, or a playlist for studying, for driving, for emptying my lungs into, for feeling alone, for feeling, for 4 o'clock in the morning, for people, for taking me away.
Staring at the stars in a wide un-light-polluted sky,
Doing homework late into the night, early into the morning,
Watching the sunset from my seat in the grass, or sunrise from the window my bed sits under,
Driving down a tree-lined highway at night, a mountain-view highway in the light,
Sitting next to someone I care about.
To live is to learn.
Learning how to appreciate the times when the Earth is gracious to me.
Learning how to love firsts and lasts and in-betweens.
Learning how to exist in a moment.
Teaching patience.
Teaching time to stand still.
Teaching time.
Teaching stand.
Teaching still.
Tranquilize me in time, tranquilize time, let me feel alive a little bit longer.
I feel most alive in moments when the music is playing because it teaches me how to keep living when the music stops.