By Adele Nieves                                                    


                                                            


On three separate occasions I've tried to express in writing the meaning of this song, my song, and its hold on me. Each time I came up blank.
 
I realized I don’t want to share it. It’s mine, privately. And even if I could put into words the breathlessness the night E sat me down, shut off the lights, asked me to be quiet and introduced me to a song that melted my world away, I wouldn’t. I find no place for it in this room, in any room.
 
The enormity of this feeling is mine and mine alone. It only plays for me; it doesn’t hold regular performances and doesn’t schedule guest appearances for the general public. When I listen to this song, I understand that love comes in many forms. Sometimes it is simply yours, to cherish silently.
 
I want to be generous and break off a piece for you to savor, but it needs no acclaim, no paparazzi attention or writer’s critique. It is complete and whole exactly the way it is—untouched, uncomplicated and simple, and simply mine.



Bio: Adele Nieves is a journalist, writer and activist, a co-founder of Liquid Words Productions, and one of the editors for The Outlet.