Nothing notable about that, I suppose. There isn't really an expected response to such magnificent pain, and most people I've heard talking about their responses seem to mirror my complexity. The day after the attack I was ashamed to listen to music in my car, or to do anything else that might seem to betray the weight on my heart. Next thing I know, I'm pillaging my CD books for songs and albums, some long forgotten, but which now fill cravings in my heart like religion. I danced like a fool around my living room to Jimmy Eat World.
Music gives reality a soundtrack.
So when I was depressed, exhausted, praying to God for death to deliver me from the illogical pain that life is, there were songs. Not just songs to feel sad to, but songs that could pinpoint the exact emotion. Mostly because it's the only way I'll be able to accurately record my feelings about humanity and its darkest points. I still listen to songs from the past to remember how great I felt in high school or summer vacation or with friends of the past. It's only fair to myself to give myself a chance to remember the tail's side of my life.