The ugliest, yet the most beautiful thing about classical music is that everybody interprets it differently. Because it does not have any lyrics, the meaning behind these notes is limitless, vast, and infinite, or I should say, ambiguous. It can be painful, or joyful, both depending on the heaviness of the rhythm and one’s reminiscence related to it. That one classical song can be dedicated to anyone, the composer’s lover, relatives, nature, earth or beyond earth, or even a stranger he/she just had an eye-contact with on the streets. Strings tear my heart apart. That is when my heart starts to bleed with tears. It is so weird that we are humans, strong yet vulnerable animals. Very intellectual we compose music, touch each others’ hearts via instruments — inanimate things that have a soul. Oh, and other works of art, paintings, poems, sculptures. But they are limited. They give you bounded information. Well, you can envisage and represent in your mind, but it is incomparable to music. You can get a feeling from a painting, but it cannot make you cry or laugh as hard as a piece of music can.

thoughts inspired by Max Richter — She Remembers