Date: Sep 20th, 2007 6:48:17 pm - Subscribe
Mood: distant
Music: Goodbye my Almost Lover- A Fine Frenzy

You crush butterfly wings slowly beneath your fingertips the same way you did my heart.

Speckles of light blue and white powder fall from your tainted hands onto the dull surface below our feet, sparkling for but a moment before a ghastly wind that caused a shiver to involuntarily crawl up my spine took them away to a place we couldn't even dream of reaching.

You smile that simple grin that tells me that everything is going to be alright, even though my stomach burns in its very acids and knows that you are wrong.

Still, I nod, my mouth unable to form the words I have practiced over and over again but have yet to say to anyone other than the darkness engulfing my bedside.

"I- I-"

More powder falls as another pair of wings meet their untimely death in your grip. This time, I watch their plummet into an unknown future, wishing that I could catch the wind just as they did, and float away without worrying which way I was going.

My words lose themselves beneath the shrieking of the wind.

"I- I-"

You shrug this one off. It's nothing to you now; this killing of freedom. But that's because you don't know the truth- the severity of what you are doing to me.

But even if you did know, would you continue to crush my wings?


And so we say goodbye.

Comments: (1)

Wishing on fading stars...
Date: Aug 27th, 2007 8:38:16 pm - Subscribe
Mood: cautious
Music: Mr. Blue- Catherine Feeny

The moment my mother returned home from her first trip to Paris, she handed me a necklace.

It was simple and elegant; a black band that held a beautiful silver star at the end of it. And the minute it joined the other two necklaces that rarely ever came off, I decided that it would be my wish necklace.

I figured that, instead of buying a five dollar wish bracelet, this necklace would hold my greatest desires, hopes, and dreams. Its durability would insure that my ultimate wish would take a while to achieve, but eventually, the thread would have to break.

That was over two years ago.

The necklace has grown old with age since then, as now all the silver it once held has faded to the copper it was originally sculpted out of. The thick band that it once had is now nothing more than a thin thread with one chunk of it's former self threatening to dissolve on the left side.

It no longer looks very stunning. In fact, most people probably think that the little star is quite ugly now, and might just pause for an one hundredth of a second to ponder why I decided to wear it in my senior picture.

Today, my wish necklace broke.

But not in the way I expected it to.

The thread didn't snap, the star didn't fall off and get lost.

The strange thing was, as I went to put it back on after a rejuvenating shower, I noticed that the clasp was gone. I freaked out, immediately searching through everything on the ground and by the sink with the speed and skill of a roller-coaster heading into the final loop.

But all my searching was to no prevail.
The little clasp must had fallen down the drain, or embedded itself deep in a corner, snickering at my futile attempts.

After a while, I gave up, placing the now unwearable necklace up on my bulletin board so it would never get lost.

It hit me then what this all meant.

My wish necklace was broken.

Which meant, just like the bracelet of the same name, my greatest wish was going to come true.

Yes, I did smile at the innocent thought, even though reality was screaming at me for believing in something so childish.

But I simply let out a sigh, touched the now empty space between my two other necklaces where the star had once laid and went on with my life.

Did my wish come true, you ask?

Well, we'll see.

Comments: (0)

Chipping away white paint.
Date: Aug 12th, 2007 1:25:38 am - Subscribe
Mood: lackadaisical
Music: The Golden Exit- The Good Life

Today I realized that I had never looked at the ceiling of my parent's bathroom.

It was grimy, I decided after a moment, finding that not one better word came to my fried mind. In one corner it was significantly darker than the rest of the already off-white speckled ceiling before it exploded in random sparkles all around the small, enclosed area. A coffee-like stain splashed in ripples over the mirror that had miraculously survived crashing into the porcelain sink- and succeeded in breaking the sink in two.

I wondered for a moment if one of my parental units had stripped the ceiling bare without my knowledge, and what I was looking at was merely the remains of a once fantastically painted part of my house I had never discovered.

Again, I thought of the strange patterns as some kind of story.

But this one, I couldn't figure out the ending to... or if there even was one- or a beginning, for that matter.

I still don't really know what possessed me to look up at the ceiling of all things tonight, and more so why I pondered over it for so long. The only logical reason embedded in my brain is that for such a period of time, I had always been looking down at my feet, or simply straight ahead.

An article shone on my computer, talking about how scientists were working on a drug... some sort of procedure that would allow humans to get rid of memories they didn't want.

I stood there for a moment, not being able to breathe; much like the reaction I got after watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Only this time, the futuristic procedure was becoming a reality.

I wondered if those scientists had ever watched that movie and saw what could occur when one fools with the mind. I figured not.

When life was breathed back into me, I felt angry.

Here we were, stuck in the twenty-first century, and scientists were more worried about erasing memories than finding ways to stop the diseases that cause fragments of the mind to disappear forever.

So, what would you rather have?
The ability to erase every slightly bad memory that could teach you a lesson?

Or the ability to stop your memories from erasing themselves without your consent before you find yourself unable to even remember your lover's name?

Every time I opened my computer, I used to find a random desktop picture there, blaring something amusing.

Until I switched off the randomosity factor.

Now every time I open up my computer, I see the words 'Let Go!' in bold white lettering above a dead dandelion.

And tonight, I looked up.

Comments: (0)

When the world looks a little different than what it's supposed to be...
Date: Jan 19th, 2007 6:55:58 pm - Subscribe
Mood: sedated
Music: 'Back For Me'- Gavin Mikhail

There was this buzzing noise; a droning that startled the heart and froze the mind.

It started out quiet at first, just choosing to be a small prick of forgotten memory for a moment before carefully growing more potent until it had successfully muffled the power of one ear, and became a constant, painful ringing in the other.

"Someone's talking."

The wind screamed as though it had something important to say, even though everyone around this town just saw it as a constant nuisance and continued on their grumbling ways.

So I just rolled my eyes and walked on by, my hands stuffed in my worn jacket, head down, wind whispering, while my head sang some old tune I couldn't remember the words to.

The lifeless hues of autumn had long since passed, as the frosty colors of winter were starting to make their rounds, painting the grass a dull speckled white. The trees around sparkled with the ice that clung to their crackling branches and preserved them in time. They would come back to life when the sun finally warmed instead of glared against the white sky. If they wanted to, that is.

But the sky didn't bother me today. For I was fascinated by the ground. By the concrete right under my shoes. By the breaks and turns, the different pieces that constructed it and all the imperfections that it held. It was nothing spectacular; just the simple things that people rarely noticed.

But, maybe if they stopped and looked closer, they would notice what I saw that day.

That it was as if every person's story were en-sketched in those sidewalks.

The idiosyncratic ways the pavement twisted formed the life lines of a person; one who fell and rose; loved and lived. They were born at one end, and died at the other. Then the other lines that hadn't been eliminated passed the dead ones, and continued on their dangerous paths.

It was so crowded that if you stepped on a fracture you could land in the middle, beginning or end of someone's story; or perhaps even a prelude, epilogue or sequel.

And while the story rambled on, going over every emotional plot twist, you could choose to care, or to ignore every little detail that made that person who they were.

The fantastical; the subtle intelligence; the hilarious; the depressing; the terrible; the diseased. It was all there in one little curvy line that ended abruptly. And it all created a being that either made a difference to the world- to one single person- or destroyed everything they ever had.

Either way, no matter how insignificant those lines may seem, it's still a life, and you stepped on it.

My left side grew numb, as the painful ringing sounded again in my right ear.

"Somebody's talking."

I glanced up at the sky.

"Yeah, but are you listening?"

Comments: (5)

Watching you invisibly, knowing that there's nothing I can do to help.
Date: May 23rd, 2006 9:10:47 pm - Subscribe
Mood: Painting my name across the sky, hoping you look up to see....
Music: Sounds of life passing by.

A world unlike any other found its way into my daydreams, but was lost after only a few moments of wandering around.

Have you ever had that sinking feeling? The one that grips onto your heart, trying to choke it as it moves up into your throat and deep down into your stomach? Does it feel as though an invisible person punched you, leaving you without enough oxygen in the air to grasp on to? Some call it that guilty feeling, while most say you deserve it. "Times are changing," they say while swinging the world on a string from side to side. "Why don't you get with the program and get over it? No use in crying or whining about it- it's over, done, finito! You said yes, when your brain was still deciding. That's your fault."

I stare at these people, blank eyed with weary hands.

"Change is supposed to be good- you've read the books, right?"

I nod, not sure of what else to say; not sure of what to do; not sure of anything any more.

"Good... good..." they mutter, pulling up on the string and sending the world spiraling to one side; the earthquake that hit the temple of my mind turning into screams that even hell heard and laughed about for years to come.

Friends tell you that they will never lie. But when the time comes to ask them what is the purpose for the distant look across their melting faces, they do just that, and another part of them disappears from your view. The web of lies they tangled themselves around has grown into an impenetrable forest, as two menacing red eyes peer out, pulling you in, and sucking away life in goblets of blood. In a matter of moments, they'll be gone forever- nothing more than a faded memory of a friend you once had.

"Change is a good thing. I want you to repeat that over and over until you believe it."

"Change is a good thing... Change is a good thing... Change...."


"Is trying to win a war it was never supposed to fight."

They bury corpses like they do lies. Six feet under with no way to climb out. Just a faint recollection of something that seems like a lucid dream. Just the kind of thing you want over just so you can forget it ever happened. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, it's the flood that will trigger the apocalypse. Too late to fight it now. They've already stabbed someone else in the back.

"Let's try it again," they say, watching me with eyes to kill. "What is change?"

I lick my dry lips, my eyes coming up dead. There's no point in fighting the inevitable now. There goes another friend, killed by the one she trusted the most. But this one doesn't even realize the crime she committed- she's too lost in her own misery to see the effect it has on others. One less person to live for.

Another friend is gone, lost to a world of a broken heart. He says nothing, does nothing; is nothing. Just a hollow shell with no recollection of life. And then there's another, who can't seem to find out what path to take. Confused, lost, hopeless- lost on a trail that can only end up tragic. One less person to live for.

The voice is stricter now, as the sickening sound of a free trigger is heard.

"One last chance," they say, but I don't see them. I'm no longer in the room with destiny. I'm no longer the person everyone hid the truth from. I'm no longer the hypocrite. "What is change?"

I look at them with uncaring eyes.

"A disease."

Comments: (14)

Could you tell?
Date: Jan 3rd, 2006 7:21:24 pm - Subscribe
Mood: Reflecting all that\'s happened and will....
Music: Nothing but silence and wind.

If you looked at me you could never tell.

I smile. I laugh. I say everything is wonderful and my vacation was pretty good.

I lie.

I've probably written this blog a million times over in my head, each word ringing in my mind along with whatever tune that was pounding through the white earphones of my ipod at the time. But when it came to writing them down, suddenly all those feelings who had just moments before been so chatty that it was starting to give me a headache chose to shut their mouths and allow nothing but a series of dots to roll across the screen.

Maybe it was because I didn't want to believe everything that was going on. Maybe I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare called reality. Or maybe, deep down I knew that if I wrote about it, then it was like admitting to the world- to myself- that everything that has happened over the past week was.... true.

Could you imagine watching the one you love the most, the one you chose out of everyone else in the world go through something so horrible and painful that it leaves them in a position where they're fighting for their life? And there's nothing you can do but watch as they deteriorate in front of your eyes?

I can't. But I sure can watch.

It seems like a television show in a way and I'm trapped in it as an unwanted character. I say lines thrown at me on crumpled pieces of tarnished paper, trying to sound as consoling and hopeful as possible. But every day is like a roller coaster. One minute up, the next minute plummeting into nothingness; a scream stuck in your throat, the feeling to dump all insides into the outside world never fading.

I don't know what to think anymore; that's one thing the scrip can't control.

And then, this morning happened.

I remember being woken up suddenly by the sound of my mother's cell phone ringing; each ring sending a punch to my stomach and cutting off my air supply. I glanced at my watch when the ringing stopped, the bright letters of five am screaming at my bloodshot eyes. One am turned out to be far worst a time to finally fall asleep than ever before.

More talking. I closed my eyes tight and strained my ears, trying to catch any clue, but nothing but silence screaming in my ears constricted around my body as I heard the soft click of the phone.

The next thing I knew, the sound of someone crying filled the once empty room. My heart leaped out of my body and lay bleeding and pumping wildly on the hard wooden floor but I could still feel it pounding in my throat. I lay there for a moment, breath caught- a hollow shell just listening, praying that the thought screaming through my mind was wrong. But after a comforting low voice joined the tears, I found myself with my hands on my eyes, whispering over and over 'No, no, no.'

Sleep never was able to take me back again as the hum of a car engine sounded and drove off to a place I had visited many times over the past week. Five am and four hours of rest to work on. Five am and a whole day faking and trying not to see my food for the second time.

At 7:15 I went to wake my dad, my alarm never once singing it's annoying song- it had no need to. For long before I had dragged myself out of bed knowing full well it would soon be time for me to push down my emotions and act as the pillar for all around me. Everyone who needed more strength than I could imagine.

At 7:16 my father told my little sister and I the truth.

At 7:16, my sister looked at me with the means to cry, and all I could do after consoling and making sure she was okay was to go to the one place I knew I wouldn't be able to break down. The one place I would be able to hide my raging emotions that were burning up like fire inside my body as I ran down the street to school.

Suddenly time went by in such a blur, the next thing I knew I was sitting at the floor by my locker, arms pulled around my legs as I buried my head in them, knowing the few people around would merely think I was suffering from New Year hangover or lack of sleep. Oh, I didn't care. Let them think what they wanted to- because never in a million years would I let anyone guess what really happened today. And I wasn't about tell them either. My stubborn self told me long ago that sympathy is not the thing I'm looking for. I don't want it nor do I deserve it.

But then, what did I want? Someone to be my pillar? Someone to catch me as I fell? I think not... I would never want to give that heavy task to anyone. No one deserves having me on their shoulders.

And I knew at that moment even before I lied through my teeth to those who talked to me, today would be filled of 'nothing's wrong' and 'I'm fine, just spacing out again.' Oh well, my mask had never looked so tempting before.

Death is a funny thing. Even when it's expected, by the time it actually does happen, you're left sitting there with this dumbfounded look covering your face while repeating 'What? You're joking, right?'.

Guess death has an odd sense of humor, but it's not always cruel. It can end suffering and extending a hand, can lead people to a better place. That's why, I guess, I'm not blaming it for this. Because this time, no matter how horrible it is for the ones still on this blue planet, death managed to help the one person who never deserved all that life put on him.
And to tell the truth, I believe we shouldn't blame death for all that happens, though most of the time it's the easiest thing to point a finger at. I think this time, death was the best offer. Now at least there is no more suffering on that bed.

I laugh sometimes, thinking about where he ended up. The sign on his restaurant showing that it will be closed in his memory clouding my eyes with tears as I do, the talk of the funeral among relatives, some who rarely ever came to visit him when he got sick, ringing in my tuned out ears. They look at me sometimes, a confused look crossing their faces if they catch that small smile on my face. Without saying anything I know they wonder how I can smile with all that's happened and how it could be quite disrespectful to his memory.

But I know he doesn't mind me smiling.

He knows I'm remembering all the good times. He knows that he lived a limited life for nearly all of mine, until now. Now, he's finally free.

I laugh again, remembering an old story my mother told me and receiving more odd looks from relatives I have never met before in my life who have suddenly shown up saying that they're my cousin who lived right in town but have never bothered to come down to say hello.

I smile, because now he's up there, getting behind the wheel of either a car or a horse and with a sneaky grin saying 'Let's see what this baby can do.'

If you looked at me you could never tell.

I smile, I laugh, I hold in all these emotions and say everything in my life is absolutely perfect while being the support for those who need way more than I do.

I lie.

Just another day in the cycle of life and death, huh?

Comments: (1)

Lost wondering...
Date: Dec 18th, 2005 12:05:19 am - Subscribe
Mood: Calling out to someone who can\'t hear...
Music: \'Captain Jack\' by Billy Joel

It's dark.
It's dim.
It's engulfing.
It's bleak.
It's silent.
It's frightening.


Falling down an endless hole, you land hard on the prime seat of a strange movie theater you've never seen before; front and center, the screen a mess of silent, staring blue as if you two were having some sort of contest.

Breaking away, you look around, hoping for a comforting soul that had fallen along with you, but only the dark velvet seats, propped up in their emptiness, meet your disappointed gaze.

You're alone in the theater.

The thought hits you like an arrow shot from the sky to spite you as you try to stand up, only to find you can't- as though gravity had it's hands pushing down on your shoulders. You struggle some more, but no matter what you do, you're stuck; stuck watching the blank screen that suddenly flashes, calling your attention.

A voice speaks, but it sounds like a tape being played in slow motion and backwards at the same time. Mumbled and low, your gut tells you that whatever it's saying is important, but just like you've turned the volume of what enters your ears down to zero, nothing makes sense.

Part of you wonders if that's what your mind wanted all along.

Maybe it would be easier not to understand it. Maybe that way, things would make more sense.

Suddenly, the screen flashes black, leaving you alone in the darkness that is crawling around your skin like snakes, pure muscle containing neither arms or legs slithering around the exposed parts of you body, hugging around your neck, causing you to stiffen in fear though if you had only relaxed, maybe the experience would have been enjoyable.

The snakes turn electric, a bone tingling feeling shooting through your body like thin wine, causing you to straighten up as if you were put in a straight jacket.

"Welcome to the asylum."

You pause, the only words you had been able to understand the whole time gripping you like steel claws around your fast beating heart.

The screen flashes black and white so fast you feel as though this is some kind of modern torture devise meant to drive you to the place with padded walls. A screeching sound of vinyl crossing diamond makes you try and reach hands to ears, but your hands are duct taped tight to the arms of the chair.
A wind tunnel seems to come out of nowhere, causing your hair to fly up in violent swirls- a bad hair day was in your future once this was over as it seems with every passing second, you're drawing nearer and nearer to the end.

A piercing pain rushes through your index finger followed by that numbing sensation that comes right after pain. You force yourself to look down, only to see a flat, dull disk, that seemed to be an earring of some sort penetrating the underside of your index finger, the skin slowly allowing crimson to drip from it.

You open your mouth to scream, but sound is never able to pass your lips. You're trapped in silence and everyone else is screaming at you.
Eyes shut, too bloody to be of any help, furious wind prevents you from hearing anything else but the screaming inside your head.


You pause, the silence almost as bad as the screaming still ringing in your ears. By the time it's completely died away and hearing is once again a sense, the calm dripping of water in the distance becomes your friend.
So sweet and pure it sounds, as light moisture mists around you, clinging to your skin; purifying your heart.

"Is it safe?"

Opening your eyes, you find yourself in a room you can't recognize, the soft wooden floor warm under your bare feet. Not a light is on except for the natural slightly blue morning rays streaming gently through an open sliding window door.

As if possessed, you gravitate towards it, arm coming up to protect your dilating pupils as you slowly step out onto a small wooden balcony. Eyes fully adjusted, hands fall onto the railing of the balcony; old, rickety railings somehow supporting your weight.

To the left below you see a decline, a trevor filled to the brim with water so level and calm that it looks as though you could walk right across it. A weathered rope bridge hangs over it, not moving at all in it's serenity even when a caressing breeze passes by. Farther in the distance, the bridge seems to a disappear, but a hazy end is in sight, complementing the frosty, misty water below.

Spellbound, you look to the right, a long forest bountiful of trees as well as a damp dirt path meeting your bright eyes. You rush off the balcony down a flight of, to your surprise, steel stairs. But you barely notice as you rush down into the light, toasted brown earth, sand caressing around every step.

Slowly walking through the forest, avoiding some lonesome twigs as you do so, a thin puddle of water that seems to cover the whole path doesn't make even the slightest splash underneath your feet.

You look around at the long trees that seem to touch the heavens, some of their long branches folded slightly, allowing a little bit of hope to shine through from above, though the majority of it comes from the beginning and the end of the path. Green, red, and some brown hues of leaves hang on only the topmost of branches; nothing adorning the lower half, not ever bare, bony fingers to reach out and snag you.

You continue at your slow pace, eyes down, as if the ground was the most fascinating thing rippling along the clear water.

You become smaller and smaller as you walk further into the forest. Soon, you're nothing but a shadow in the distance, eyes on the ground as the lights fade and the screen turns black.

Lost wondering in a dream world all your own.

My dream world.
Comments: (4)

Shadows of memories
Date: Dec 13th, 2005 2:15:42 pm - Subscribe
Mood: Trying to find my wishing star amongst everyone else\'s...
Music: \'What a Wonderful World\'- Louis Armstrong

Today I missed something I've gone to every year.
Tonight I'm missing something I've never been to.

It's strange. One moment seems to be dripping by like chinese water torture and then the next it goes by so fast you're spun around with your hair stuck out to one side like a bottle of spiking gel has exploded all over your head.

I guess time is like that. It loves to fool around with it's speeds; going from super sonic to extra slow motion at any point it sees fit, dragging out the horrible moments; snatching away the best days of your life.

I sit on the roof or on my bed, staring at the night cloak surrounding the earth like a cupped hand. The full moon shines overhead with a galaxy of stars dangling like shards of hope, each one the wish of a person who needed something to believe in.

The clouds sometimes come to cover them. Thick and black they are, full of despair and doubt, choking and blinding the dreams of all who choose to let them.

Strange how the cloud cover seems to be thicker than usual these days and if you look around you can tell whose letting it effect them and whose not.
Guess the wind isn't as strong as it once was.
But, I wonder if they notice the bit of pale moonlight shining through the mess of seemingly impenetrable doom. It's there, leaving shadows of hope on the ground below.
See? One just danced towards you.
Wont you pick it up? Or will you just let it die at your feet?

Hm. Yes. There are a lot more clouds than usual tonight. Ah, but the moon seems to be making it's way through anyway. Guess it still doesn't want to miss it's big scene.

Leafing through an old black and white yearbook brings back memories that linger in the back of your mind, swimming around aimlessly- wondering when they'll be found once more. Each new crackling page causes more powerful waves of lost documents to flood back to your conscious mind. You remember some with a grin. You push others back with tears and fire.

Yesterday I looked through photo albums of the past, the dust flying away like speckles of sun through the window shades with every turn. Stories unfolded that had been pushed away by the daily stresses of life; scattered pieces of my mind finally coming together, allowing me to see my full reflection once again, if only for a moment.
With each page and caption I felt as though my life was flashing before my eyes, but I wasn't dying- I was living- through the pictures.

Once in a while my eyes would flash to something that no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember, like a fog had rolled across an already misty night; like a styrofoam dagger trying to penetrate into an iron heart-impossible to recall, when it should have been impossible to forget.

I carefully turn another page and stare intensely at one picture, trying to recall why I had been smiling like that, or posed in that certain way when the flash sent me seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Was that my famous forced smile that everyone could tell was fake? The way my lips try to find a reason to pull in that direction so when person behind the camera presses down the shutter button, I actually look like I'm enjoying myself instead of appearing like some skeleton that doesn't belong in the land of the living.

And why am I posed like that? Like a statue of my former self, cold and waiting- the thoughts going through my head not reflecting how I am captured in that one moment.

Hm. My mask works better than I thought.

But it might have to be cleaned very soon- it's been a while since I've had my picture taken.
Comments: (1)

Broken guitar
Date: Dec 3rd, 2005 1:55:37 pm - Subscribe
Mood: Bleeding fingers
Music: \'While my guitar gently weeps\'- The Beatles

A broken guitar.

Abandoned on the streets, left on the curb dismembered and dirty; grime covering it's once shining hollow body.

Steel strings are snapped at the bottom of the neck, the neck itself only be connected to the body by the lonesome high E string wanting more than anything to vibrate it's sweet sound once more.

But as person after person pass the weeping guitar, it can only grow more depressed as it no longer cares when cars narrowly miss it, sending waves of intoxicated water caressing over it, impurifying it even more; life doesn't matter.

Pushed up against the curb, washed out, hope lost, the broken guitar utters not one sound. It can't. The magic is lost. The soul is shattered into sharp silver pieces in the middle of the street as car after car runs over it, leaving tire tracks with no concern for what they left behind.

More grime plasters over it's surface. The strings flap lifelessly in the burning wind; the lowly high E trying not to cry when another wave of slicing pain tells it to let go and break along with all the others.

A pitiful scream escapes the intact string, knowing that the end is near, but just when it thinks all living is pointless, a pair of strong hands pick up the two broken pieces. Eyes scan over it as fingers trace along the body, cleaning off layers of the past in one swipe, allowing the original warm color of the wood to peek through once more.


When consciousness comes once again, purity flows in under the name of light; warmness clinging to fanged icicles.

For a brief second, the E string notices something- that's it's whole again. The neck and body are joined together, and the whole guitar has been cleaned to surpass it's former glory. But there's a problem. It's is just sitting there, placed on a stand under a plate of bullet proof glass.

What good can something be when it can't bring happiness to others?

Depression sets in once more. You're alive but you're dead at the same time. You sit there with your brain functioning, but limbs wont move and mouth wont speak; deaf, blind, mute, numb.

But before the knife can be pulled out, the same pair of strong hands picks up the guitar, moving it around in the warm air until it is handed to a pair of smaller hands that instantly hold the instrument as if it were made of glass.

A converse all star shoe counts out the beats against a warm wooded floor and with one slow strum down the strings, life begins again.

Suddenly a cool, jazzy solo erupts from the small fingers, hands running up and down the neck, strings vibrating with a sense of loving one can only receive from a musical instrument. Life flows through the guitar, the hands giving it new hopes, dreams, and a reason to keep on giving- happiness.

As the E string is played at different frets, making new notes, it realizes that the strings above it are not the ones from before. The broken original strings that chose to give up are not part of the new soul of the ancient guitar. Because those strings chose to give up, they didn't have the chance to see what greatness awaited them if they had just held on a bit longer. They didn't get the chance to see what they really meant to people; what the gift of life really means.

Now only one original string of the guitar sings sweetly, the lovely mix of sound pleasing even the pickiest of ears.

The duct tape is off the muted mouth, blood is out of the deaf ears, closed eyes are now opened, and feeling is restored to the once emotionless piece of lost history.

Music reflects off mirrors and into the soul, instantly capturing something everyone can love. Life flows like rushing water running through closed fingers; we never expect it to make it through, but somehow the water slips through the invisible openings of our hands- free- like we can become.

A broken guitar no more.

Comments: (1)

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