Where harmony reigns

When I tell her about my synesthesia she says: “With me everything is connected to a song, is that synesthesia too?”
“It could be, although synesthesia is mainly sounds that are connected to colors,” I answer.
“Yes, you already told me that,” she frowns her eyebrows as she looks at me, “what was that again, what color is the sound A?”
“Red,” I reply, and “E is blue, I is yellow, O is brown and U is purple.”
“Strange isn’t it,” she responds, “do you always see those sounds colored like that?”
“Yes,” I reply, “it took me quite a while to realize that not everyone saw sounds as colored by the way, I wasn’t a kid anymore when that became clear to me. But tell me what song is connected to Cutie for example,” and I point in the direction of our cat who sits in the sofa.
“Wait,” she says, “Cutie is the following song, kyut kyut kyutie, kyutie kyutie kyutie,” and she repeats several times in a tone and changing rhythm. I see Cutie prick up her ears.
“And what is your song for Comrade Podolsky?” I ask.
“Aha,” she says, “here it comes, mi mi mi mi mi ahmiiir”, the tone and rhythm are more heavy corresponding to Comrade’s seize en weight. He is sleeping and does not stir at first, but when she sings a little louder the fourth time, he springs up and turns his gaze to her.
“You know,” I tell her, “there is an admittedly speculative theory that claims that music existed before there was language, and that language is therefore rather a special form of singing.”
“Really,” she replies, “that’s an interesting thought.”
“If that’s true,” then your connecting a song to things might also be a form of synesthesia. By the way, I personally find that a very comical thought as well. I can already see our ancestors singing to each other like in a musical while they talk about how to clean up the cave.”
She giggles. “We should do that again now,” she exclaims enthusiastically, “I am convinced that people would argue much less if they sang to each other like in a musical instead of talking.”
I smile and see it in front of my mind’s eye, “A very interesting idea, and I think you’re right.”
Outside, meanwhile, it has begun to dusk. The gentle voice of the wind whispers in the still rain-pregnant air. If people would sing instead of talk, at least it would become much more clear where harmony reigns and where cacophony prevails.