Just when the perfect melody was about to come, the string broke. It stayed in my heart and I can hear it, . . . . almost. I put the guitar away and I looked up to the thousand stars and the two moons, to the little shape that didn't make sense and thought of life, that didn't make sense either. The tears came. . . . almost, they stayed right at the edge telling me, they were there if I needed them. But I didn't, I was me, I was strong. Visions of you on a motorcycle driveby and through the broken wave the voices say it will be allright. The voices care and that helps . . . .
Days have gone by. That perfect song is back, notes put together in a way that is so mine it almost spells my name. I look at the guitar in the corner and I realize maybe I don't even need it anymore. Can I sing, do I dare? My throat has been hurt before in its attempts to sing the songs that it thought it was meant to sing. I try. The voices around me whisper harmonies of encouragement and when I finally let go of my voice the song sounds like I always knew it was meant to. I sit down and the voices sit behind me facing away but looking at me through the mirrors of their wishes. I look up, all the little shapes make sense now. I cry, I don't need the tear either.