little drummer boy

He once was a terrific drummer. He knew it. Everyone knew it. He could keep the beat, and then some, and he loved it, lived for it. It was more than the music. It was … him. Then, he stopped playing, just like that. Don’t count on music, his mother had said. It’s a tough life, his father had said. So, he moved on, not realizing that you never really move on from music, that it becomes part of you, almost like a heart beating, blood coursing, breathing. He filled the emptiness with other things, busyness, mostly, and anything else he could find, but the beat always played in his head, in his heart, in his soul. It was him. When he finally realized that, he promised himself he would someday return to it, but he hasn’t, yet. There’s still time, he thinks.