My Music

by The Cowl Editor on November 4, 2021


A treble clef
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

by Max Gilman ’25


I cease to dry my body,

As my towel falls to the wet floor,

Soaking the towel,

In puddles of shower water,

I stand there for a brief moment,

While listening to a melancholy song,

And I think about it,

The song I am playing,

And I think about them,

The people outside the shower,

Hearing my music,

I think about how the song might make 

them feel.

Small droplets of water begin to fall from my skin,

I then think of how the song makes me feel.

The song makes me feel pleasant

But thoughts of them

Crowd my mind,

Like a hoarder’s house,

Filled with the same item,

The dripping of water begins to stop,


The ones who listen to my music,

Beyond the shower’s curtain,

Do they really care about my music?

My music,

But I don’t own any music.

How can one

Own art?

I notice that the sound of water hitting the tiled ground has stopped,

And now my towel is drenched,

In the water below me.

Before I reach for my towel

I begin to reconcile,

To myself,

About the music,

But before I can conquer a cohesive thought,

The song ends.

I never took a moment to enjoy it.

It’s quite ironic,

To stand here alone,

So naked as to only hone my bare skin,

But shielded by an inch-wide shower curtain,

Unseen by those observing my music.

My music,

My mind in thought.