Invisible Sound

The music he plays resounds

beautifully in my ears.

It is melodious.

It is subtle.

It is smooth. Just like him.

It seduces me to lift myself.

I move my

limbs to the

afterthought of each note. I am

flowing water, and nothing in me remains

the same.

I am motion.

A receptacle to the

messages he flows

into my being. They are words, but of a different nature. They are emotion in the form of



He is the Pied Piper, I follow.

He is the artist, I muse.

He is the singer, I listen.

He is the musician, I dance.

Warmth fills my body, as the sweat gently tingles my palms. My arms. It calms. The coolness spirals around me with each spin.

I am not dizzy, just

unstable. Isn’t that what life is all about, instability? We lose

our ground and spend a moment regaining

ourselves, only to lose it again for the thrill of uncertainty.  He strums something

that is part of a memory. I can’t quite recall what the song is,

but there is a sense of comfort. The notes call out like

faded whispers. Like a well worn piece of clothing, it fits.


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