Trapped In The Margins

Who really listens to jazz music?
I would love to know.

Sat in a coffe shop listening to jazz. I’m curious if people hear the music or if it just turns to static.

Or worse

Silence.

Silence is the worst.
It takes up so much space.
I feel the silence with every inhale and exhale.

Breathing is a funny thing.
I don’t consciously breath.
It’s automatic.
I don’t have to think.

Think. think. THINK.

More silence.

Silence and darkness are swirling around me as I begin to slip into unconsciousness.

Sleep is calling my name.

But then.

That memory from earlier begins to play. The film that I can’t turn off but I can tune out.

I wonder who really listens to jazz music.

The static returns.

The film runs out.

Silence creeps in once more.