We all have a soundbox but maybe we do not call it the same thing, or maybe you all call it something else that I am unaware of, and here I am again, creating my own terms for events and places and objects that already exist.
My soundbox has flung wide open, though, Sledgehammer is playing on the radio (Oh man, those pan pipes get me every time,) and yes, I am grooving. My body is doing that move thing, where you are sat like a stone working, but the muscles ripple and you gyrate on the seat, a sedentary boogie.
The soundbox being open, means being transported to a time when that song first graced my ears, or rather a time zone, a spot in the nostalgia where adult intersects with childhood, and you are lost in a swirl of past, feeling that and feeling now.
My soundbox is massive, cavernous even! Containing more saudade than you could ever believe, but I do. This music is a lifeline, this music careens and caresses and causes countless swathes of bees full of emotion to buzz along my body and bring back times that twirl toward the past participles of that young boy, whom I can see sat in front of a telly transfixed on a music video and smiling a grin that will etch lines into his face for 30 more years.