Second favorite song.
Is this becoming a thing?
I hope so.
A delight of a friend, also looking to get in their writing reps, has jumped onto the prompt exchange train with me.
My prompt for them this week: Describe in painful detail, and from beginning to end, what it feels like inside and out to be caught off guard by your own laughter.
Do a few facial stretches and prepare to smile throughout the entirety of their response. Read it here!
Their prompt for me: The space of mind that your second favorite song takes you to.
Hypnotized in a swirl of audible color, I’m instantly at ease from the start of this song. Or maybe I’m high.
A big part of me wants to break down the layers of groovy instrumentals, analyze the lyrics, and dive into why this song engulfs me with its blend of sounds. I love the details. I love research. I love knowing why things are the way they are—sometimes to a fault.
So in the spirit of the actual prompt from my friend, without consuming this piece with technicalities, here’s the headspace this song takes me to:
In my mind’s eye, I see my palm resisting the stream of air that pushes against it, my arm hanging out the car window, curls billowing out the side as I drive 40 mph down an open road.
83 degrees.
Signs of life surround me in the form of polaroid photos tucked in the sun visor flap, dried flowers once picked fresh from the sides of highways on the dash, and awful gas station coffee with the trace of rings inside the cup holder. Smears of color zoom up and over the windshield like a car wash apparatus, while the side windows frame combinations of hues that make up the trees, flowers, and sky for milliseconds before flashing by.
Thinking isn’t rushed here. Thinking isn’t slowed here. Instead, thinking lets itself fall backward into an oversized bean bag and closes its eyes.
It’s a welcome stall to the normality of hyperdrive, and for a moment, life tastes so sweet. I have nowhere I need to be, just places I want to go. I’m escaping but not running. Grounded but not trapped. Swirling but not untethered.
The hum of machine holding my weight, the quiet of 40 mph invites contemplation, and it’s the only place where thought and emotion hold hands this easily.