The language I used to know

Whistled songs and tunes I can't remember. Snatches of music send signals to my brain, memories of long ago when I knew how to sing. I knew what music felt like. I didn't know the different kinds of music, only its language. Some seemed soft and made me sad. Others made me want to sway like pussy willows in the breeze. Some music scared me, it hissed and screamed at me and made me afraid to be alone. I tried to close my ears. I could feel the screeching, pounding pulse of it in my stomach, invading my body. There was happy music too that made me want to dance and felt like cool summer days. It caressed me, held me with its gentle tune and promises of love and happiness. Music still touches me deeply. I can still feel it coursing through my veins. But now I know what sounds caress and what instruments scream. I know the words they sing. They are seldom real and often cruel. I liked music better when I was a child. When I knew its language but didn't understand the words.