The music plays. My heart skips a beat. My feet tap. My head spins. My arm. My leg. Up. Down. I feel. I know. Toes. Finger tips. My eyes are closed, embracing the moment because I know it will soon be gone. My heart pumps the moves throughout my body, the emotions throughout my movements. My brain can't think. I am overcome with something so powerful that it moves me without my permission. My knees bend. My head tilts. I am spinning. I reach for something that slips away from me. The lights are hot on my skin. The eyes try to understand. Inside I am erupting. Crying. Sobbing. Tears of joy. Tears of pain. Tears of heartbreak. Tears that the music gives me. Willingly it gives me tears. Willingly I take them. I drink them. I become them. The music and I become one. One so powerful we could, together, change people. We could give them these tears. These feelings. They could see us, not just watch us. They could understand. If they choose to. The music lifts me onto its back. I am soaring with music’s wings. Tingle. My body feels it. The emotion. The raw emotion. Music captivates thoughts. I illustrate them. I am on the floor. The music put me there. I am helpless. I surrendered a long time ago to music’s great and wondrous power. I am not me. I am the music. I give up my soul for two minutes and thirty-five seconds to the compelling harmonies and melodies. I am “not empty” anymore with these tears I have received. I am rejuvenated, eccentric, new, and free (Bradbury 144). I am home.