It turns out that I have some neighbors who make their day at work more enjoyable with the saddest music that can exist. Right next to my wall, beside my window, every day from eight to five the most melancholy chords of rock music, ballads of old, bloody corridors and various painful hymns sound. There are days when I don't realize that, but for some time now, I can't help but pay attention to the increasingly tearful melodies that are pouring into my house. If the day is sunny and cheerful, the verses about unrequited love, forced farewells and ungrateful children rush me to the delirium of nostalgia, spoiling the good weather. And on cloudy and rainy days, the melancholy of music beats me without any effort and settles in my work room reminding me how unhappy and useless human existence is. There are times when I can cope with the chords in a better way, I can ignore them nicely while plugging them with my own music in an act of good urban neighbourhood; however, there are more and more times when I abandon my ears to the delight of that music that distresses my soul completely. This is how I end up paralyzed, with my heart shrunk thinking about the sadness of so many, of all of us who live in this world.
