As a dancer, I extremely often hear the words, oh I love this song.
No, you don’t.
When you love a song, every part of you is filled with a part of that song. Every corner of your mind, every cell in your body, every space in you is filled with that track. It makes your brain feel like it’s expanding, like your neurons are firing and connecting in ways they’ve never connected before, causing sparks of electricity to run up and down your spine.
When you love a song, goosebumps creep over your flesh, tickling you from your forearms up to your shoulders, up your back and the back of your neck. The gooseflesh surrounds your legs, encases your hips, fills your physical body. It ends up twisting your face into a blissful grin, one that you can’t resist.
When you love a song, you can’t help but close your eyes, entranced, ensconced in the moment, held, buffeted, drawn. It might make you cry, or giggle, or gasp. It makes you breathe differently. It causes you hands to rise, grasping invisible oranges that you immediately crush in your pummelling of invisible drums. You can’t stop yourself from moving, regardless of where you are or the company you’re in.
When you love a song, conversation stops. Worry stops. Anxiety stops. You are incapable of making plans, of seeing the point of talking, of tweeting, of doing anything, in short, other than being in the moment with that song.
When you love a song, the energy of the music fills you, reinvigorates you, causes your entire being to vibrate in synchrony.
And when the song is over, you feel better than if you’ve just had the most amazing orgasm. Happier. More relaxed. Like you can take on the world.
THAT is loving a song. Just because it makes you ‘feel like dancing’, it’s not the same thing. Just so we’re clear.