Major in minor.
A sudden longing, so sound and yet profound, showers me in a series of well-meaning sparks that stirs the very depths of my soul. Then comes the quivering thunder in the pits of the stomach; the queer desire to do a pirouette in the air; the quickening readiness to burst into song.
In a carelessly-shot photo, I am the one that you catch floating at the edge of the frame, in defeat and incomplete. With half a smile in an awkward profile, it tells both nothing and everything, speaking volumes of my sanity and shaping secrets not even to my knowing.
So we continue to dance to a 4-4 key signature, shyly skip with the many staccatos, and gleefully slide down the tails of quavers. We have been through mountains of yore and brought back safely ashore, and still we live in stories untold before.
It seems that we do what we must, but sometimes it just ain’t enough.
I know a place called love
No one bothered me there, no I was all alone.