The Music of the Night Lives On...
I remember curling up close next to the boom box when I was much younger, pressing play, and hearing the first sweet, intoxicating, and heart pounding cords of the Overture in the Phantom of the Opera. I would lay curled up on my side, close my eyes and, from what my Mother told me and the rich cords coming from the small speakers, envision what was unfolding. It was a great playground for my vivid imagination. As I’m typing this I’m listening to the very CD that I would play while lying on the carpet curled by the small stereo. As I grew I left the Phantom behind me, and the winsome fancy and childlike wonder I held for the project. The movie brought the same magic back to the tiny girl inside. I was moved beyond expression, and my big girl mind was able to reap a whole other level of depth from the piece that my young mind never could. The depth of sorrow of what it is like never to have the caress of real love upon your life, while brilliant, cruel, cold, harsh, and with many animal...