Off and on, Sarah seems to be my only friend. That's so sad, making me doubly sad now. Hers songs are great and amazing, perfect for any moment. But when I feel really bad inside, her songs undeniably resonate.
When she whispers "good enough" and "hold on", she's cutting through all the layers and I believe her. She understands me, and I love her for that.
Perhaps all this is just conditioned reflex, associations established long ago, when she became the soundtrack to my depression years. I listened to her every night, crying and swaying in my dark studio apartment, in the middle of the city, six floors above the dirty streets, surrounded by much taller, ominous buildings. Through it all, she offered a metaphysical hug.
Each line she sings now reaches all the way back, a much-needed reminder that I can hope for better days.
In the back of my mind, I'm so thankful that she's still alive, which can only mean that all her words are still true. She's still making music, while living her own life, as wife, mother, and artist. I hope she lives a long, long life, as I'd rather die before she does.
For now, for this lonely moment, I cannot imagine a world without her.