This short piece of writing came to me as I ate breakfast this morning in my sunroom. I carry a blue memo pad around with me everywhere I go just for a few moments of inspiration. I prefer to do my writing at my desk, but when the moment strikes, I must take it. I write everything I can, then at my desk, edit it until I'm satisfied. I hope that you like this piece, there is some meaning behind it, and if you wish to know, email me. I would also like to hear any comments you may have.
I have been sitting at my desk for days. Writing, incessantly writing. Once I began, I could not stop. The music came freely and I could not write fast enough! It was sweet, it was giving; we formed a friendship and as I came to know her, I began to fall in love.
The intimate breath we shared was soft, we knew each other and I did not, could not, stop writing.
All day and all night would I write. Her sweet melodies surrounding me, encompassing me. Our lives were sweet and our love was long.
Then, in a simple moment, the music slowed; she started to show some disrest. The sweet melodies soon faded and dark dissonance started to creep in. I tried to comfort my music, but she would not be comforted. Darker her music became and slower would I write. A depression overcame us.
The coffee mugs and tea cups began to be replaced by liquor bottles. Notes that once dotted and filled pages now became scribbles and scratches amongst blank staves. I pleaded and begged my love to make that sweet music once again. She never did.
My desk became filled with torn and crumpled music that had no sound. Wet drops of my tears stained the ink. I pleaded and cried, but my only hope was these blue-green pills that dotted my desk, among the bottles, stains and dying music. I had lost my love.
I have been sitting at my desk for days and not another note has dropped from my pen. I keep waiting for her to come back, to show me that sweet music once again, but she is lost. I am weak and dare not move, dare not lose what black and white sounds I have before me. The blue-green pills, being the only color I see, will soon disappear, along with my heart that will not beat any more.
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2 comments:
wow this is kind of deep. As I read this it seems you are taking your reader into the depths of your being. You write as if your heart was free to fly and you were able to express this in creativity. I can relate to this having done it myself. In the novel that I am polishing up there is a wonderful romantic piece that is actually a true story. While I was writing this piece my heart was flying on the wings of doves. I had found someone to share a large part of my life with. But with all things our paths decided to go in different directions and the loss made me go into a rut. But in that rut came some beautiful poems. So even in my darkest despair I can find ways to express myself.
Thankyou catshark! Thoughts like this don't happen often, and I'm rarely satisfied with the end results. I used to write poetry and it would go through so many revision, sometimes the end result is completely different than the original. However, I love it when I find something that seems to be artistic and meaningful at the same time (I don't know if that actually makes sense). However, one thing that's true is no matter what our lives go through, in some way, we may be able to express those experiences in some way.
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