to wake the music in our bones,

*I went back to senior year and Nelson's classroom and Paris.  Here's what happened:

What does it mean, to wake the music in our bones?  Is it a realization or epiphany?  The realization that you could be doing so much more than this.  Than the quiet nights and empty words.  Than the way you see yourself or others or the way you tell them what you don't think or don't tell them what you do.
Is it some epiphany that makes you spin your mind 180 degrees?  Because, let's be honest here, you can't physically spin 180 degrees in your small dorm room.
Is it a change in emotion or action or the way you look or dance with others?  What does it mean, to wake the music in our bones?  Because I've talked to my bones and they seem to be singing already.  They sing about mistakes and heartaches and maybe even desire.  They serenade me with the words my heart said and my brain said it didn't say.  (Except, my brain's a liar.)
What does it mean to wake the music in our bones?  Should I make incisions?  Remove them from my body and use them as drumsticks?  But I don't think I'd survive without my bones, even if they were still making music.  See, I need my bones inside me, where they belong.  Because sometimes I cant hear the music and I need them to remind me that it's there.  I need them to serenade me when I lie awake at night, staring at the stars, deciding if I really exist or not.  I need them to ground me or else I'll fly to space to touch those stars and land on the moon and then I'd die from the lack of oxygen.