Distant Canon

    I first heard Canon in D on a friend's social media page. By chance, I listened to it again, and then again, day after day. I don't know why, but I'm the kind of person who can see or hear art hundreds or thousands of times without easily growing tired of it. If it were a person, I think I would be a very loyal one, but those people or pieces of music always seem to leave me, or fade from my memory. Leaving is silent, forgetting is subtle.

    The first part of Canon is serene and slow. Perhaps our shyness leads us to express first love so subtly. Then, the tempo quickens slightly, becoming somewhat melancholic, leaving one hesitant. A simple love, like Jane's, is sometimes very precious, at least for me. It's easy to find a drinking buddy, but a kindred spirit to listen to music with is rare, and someone to appreciate and discuss classical literature with is an even greater luxury. In my opinion, the most classic part of Canon is the latter chord progression. The tempo isn't actually that fast; it's the belief in pursuing life and ideals that's hidden in the most precious part of the music. However, the ending gradually fades, gradually recedes, gradually disappears. Perhaps the meaning of life is expressed through its ending, but even in death, the vital force of life only weakens. As long as there is a sliver of strength, one will always strive tirelessly for hope. In this way, those things destined to be unfinished, yet done to the best of one's ability, will not leave regrets.

    I constantly move from one place to another, but listening to a certain song will make me miss someone. After a long time, perhaps it's just a memory. Those people, because of my distance, seem close to someone else, and later, they become very intimate. Distance can increase longing, but it can also easily fade love. Time can forget love, but it can also make us understand the meaning of longing more deeply at certain times. As for those songs, those people, they only remain a profound memory in our hearts, an engraved moment. Occasionally, when I think of them, a slight smile will appear. Someone next to you suddenly asks, "Why are you smiling like that?" I can only smile again. But she doesn't know that my next departure will also leave her with a smile, or perhaps tears.

    It's said that Canon was written by the author for his lover. I imagine his lover must have been very happy, but they couldn't be together, otherwise the pursuit would have lost its meaning. We can't have the same dream again when our own dream is fulfilled. However, we can have the same beautiful dream after another. If we don't wake up, dreaming is wonderful, but when you wake up, you'll inevitably have a dream with some regrets—your last dream.

    Today, I heard Canon again, in an unfamiliar space, in front of a stranger, but it felt so far away from me.