“Where words fail, music speaks.” -Hans Christian Andersen
My Interpretation: Empaths understand songs differently. We hear the pulse behind the lyric, the truth under the performance, the ache inside the artistry. It is not obsession. It is recognition – a heartbeat answering another heartbeat in the dark.
The Walking Oxymoron Era – Part 3
Empathy has never been a soft, gentle trait for me.
People like to romanticize it as kindness, intuition, generosity, insight.
But mine has always been louder than that.
It is physical.
It is heavy.
It rings in my chest like an alarm that never turns off.
When I connect with something or someone –
I do not do it halfway.
I absorb it.
I feel it in my bones.
I feel it in my teeth.
I feel it in the place where grief lives quietly until something wakes it up.
Maybe that is why music hits me the way it does.
It does not just play in my ears.
It plays in my nervous system.
I hear the pain behind the performance.
I hear the exhaustion in the breath.
I hear the confession between the lines.
I do not listen like a fan.
I listen like someone who recognizes the sound of a soul trying to stay intact.
If I Ever Met MGK, I Know Exactly What I Would Do
People imagine meeting their favorite artists & getting photos, autographs, inside jokes, adorable moments.
Not me.
If I ever met MGK, I would probably trip or forget how speaking works.
But if I could get just one grounded moment,
one real second of human-to-human instead of artist-to-audience,
I know exactly what would come out of my mouth.
I would ask,
Are you okay?
Not “I love your work.”
Not “Let us take a picture.”
Not “That album saved me.”
I would ask the question no one ever bothers to give them space to answer.
Because songs like I Think I’m OKAY do not come from stability.
Papercuts is not born from peace.
Don’t Let Me Go was not written by someone who was sleeping well at night.
Those songs come from somewhere raw.
Somewhere lonely.
Somewhere most people would never share out loud,
let alone record for millions of strangers
who do not know how to handle intimacy unless it is catchy.
People forget that vulnerability does not stop hurting just because you put it to music.
NF – The Other Kind of Ache
NF hits differently.
If MGK is the crash, NF is the aftermath.
He writes like a man who feels everything too deeply & speaks only when he cannot hold it anymore.
His silence between albums is almost louder than the songs themselves.
He disappears in a way that feels familiar to
anyone who has ever had to retreat to survive their own emotions.
He does not write music.
He writes documentation.
It is emotional evidence.
It is every intrusive thought finally finding structure.
He is the soundtrack for people who overthink their own breathing.
I want to ask him the same question:
Are you okay?
Not because I expect an answer.
But because I know what it feels like to break quietly & keep going anyway.
People Consume Art Like It Is Free, Not Borrowed
People forget that their favorite songs cost someone something.
Those lyrics they belt out in the car?
Written during a breakdown.
Those metaphors they tattoo on their ribs?
Written during grief.
Those lines they scream at concerts?
Written in rooms where someone was shaking.
The world consumes art without ever considering that it came from a person who might still be hurting.
People devour creativity like a buffet plate.
Empaths treat it like a biopsy.
We know it came from somewhere tender.
I cannot listen without feeling the pulse behind it.
I cannot disconnect the art from the artist.
I cannot pretend it is entertainment when it feels like confession.
When someone writes a lyric that feels like truth, I hear the whole story, not just the rhyme.
I Cry at Concerts for the Wrong Reasons
Most people cry at concerts because they feel nostalgic or happy or overwhelmed by the collective experience.
I cry because I can feel when someone has been carrying too much.
I cry because I hear the cracks in their voice before the lights dim.
I cry because I can feel the emotional cost of repeating a wound on stage night after night.
I cry because I can see the demons hiding behind their eyes without having ever met them before.
It is not fangirling.
It is resonance.
It is empathy at full volume.
My emotions do not ask for permission.
They respond instinctively.
When the lights hit the artist, & the music hits the crowd, the honesty hits me.
Poetry with a Pulse
Music is just poetry with better acoustics.
It is grief wrapped in melody.
It is truth under a spotlight.
It is survival set to rhythm.
People forget that songs are stories someone lived through.
Every chorus is a coping mechanism.
Every verse is a confession.
Every bridge is a breakdown that needed to be translated.
Music has always saved broken people, but sometimes broken people save music.
They give it depth.
They give it honesty.
They give it meaning.
That is why I cannot listen casually.
I hear the story behind the sound.
Empathy Is Not Softness. It Is Sensitivity with Teeth.
Empathy is not “being nice.”
Empathy is knowing too much.
Feeling too deeply.
Caring too instinctively.
Absorbing pain that does not belong to you & feeling responsible for it anyway.
It is exhausting.
It is heavy.
It is real.
But it is also the reason I recognize myself in artists who are trying to survive their own honesty.
Empaths are not emotional.
We are tuned in.
We pick up feelings the way antennas pick up signals.
Music is one of the frequencies I understand best.
The Reflection
People think I connect with artists because I idolize them.
But the truth could not be more opposite.
I connect because I know what it feels like to hurt quietly.
To feel misunderstood.
To feel like your insides are louder than your voice.
To want someone to ask if you are okay, even when you know they will not.
Music is how I find people who feel the same without ever meeting them.
It is how I recognize myself in strangers.
It is how I feel seen in a world that rarely looks closely.
I do not fangirl.
I empathize.
Xoxo ♡
Whisper to the ghosts. Yell into the void. Just don’t be an asshole.