He was happy

He was happy.

His eyes were closed. He was leaning back in his chair. The room was dark. Pink Floyd was playing "High hopes". He had listened to this song several times before, but only now could he make out every note and chord that was being played....only now could he understand the meaning of the song. There were tears in his eyes.

He was happy.

He wanted to share this revelation with the three others in the room. But he was afraid they wouldn't be impressed if he disturbed the reverie. He opened his eyes to check. He was right....they wouldn't have been impressed. It had been more than an hour since the first song had started, but right now, there was no hurry to get anywhere. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He was happy.

He thought it was unfair that he could actually understand and enjoy these songs only at this level of intensity. He envied the artists who had created these songs...and all the other artists who had become immortal through their creations. He imagined the kind of elation they must have felt while creating such works of art..the level of intensity at which they must have operated. He felt blessed to have been given a chance...a brief moment to experience that elation.

He was happy.