I was moved.
Through all this clutter in my mind, that sends me reeling
at every new turn and sickening lurch, I hear strings. The violin is my lover. My soul mate; with its sad recognition of truth, a brilliance I find myself in tears to. I want my voice to sound as forlorn. I want so badly to hear beauty in the tone I wield in my daily life.
I need to hear beauty come from my lips. Lips that are always chapped and bleeding.
I don’t know how to sound sadder than I already feel. It would be a tremendous feat that could send me to the edge of every safety harness I have strapped myself into. That I have tightened diligently. That I have caressed with my wrinkled, naked, fingers. This is the intimacy I need: my pitched lover of safety.
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