Back when I was 16 (and 17, 18, 19 and into my early 20's) I used to follow this music man around like some gypsy or hippie or whatever you want to name it. I still remember my good friend passing his CD off to me when I was 15. I threw it on my old wooden dresser and didn't touch it for months. One day, freshly 16, I grabbed it and popped it into my car...my dad's old 1984 white, stick shift BMW. And I remember immediately falling in love with everything about that CD. It was different. The lyrics were passionate. Profound. They were real. Uncommon. That was over 10 years ago. And I have been to many a shows- of his and others- since then. But I give this music man all the credit for my incessant concert-going throughout my late high school and college years. Whether I went alone or with friends it didn't matter. I went. I haven't listened to him in years; that is until recently my brother sent me this. And it brought me back to when I was just a 16 year old girl - the memory so close and so thick I swear I could've reached out and touched it. The memory of driving home from school with the heater on my feet and all the windows down, blaring his songs and singing so loud my throat hurt. The memory of standing in concert line after concert line, parking in dark back alley's to find some hole in the wall live music hall that someone's friends' friend told me about. I love those youthful memories trapped in our hearts. They're never very far and I am finding, more often than not, that my youth has never left me; it's not in my past. It's a state of heart. And I am learning it's vibrance these days like I never have before.
Jason Mraz- I Won't Give Up
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