dripping off her fingertips.
eight years turned into a song,
up inside her and
to escape into a melody.
she pictures herself
slipping inside the instrument,
weaving her body through the strings,
curling up in the darkness, letting the song
icy droplets of sound coating her eyelids,
a tumult of warm, deep vibrations
around her toes,
each note pouring
through her veins.
underneath this black lid is a
cocoon, and she’s singing her secrets to sleep
deep inside, staining these keys with
her face rests against the cool, hard lacquer
her breath clouding over the stillness
like a mirror
and in the fresh emptiness
she can feel their eyes
(inspired by River Flows in You by Yiruma, a song I’m obsessed with playing today.)