|I like writing when I'm supposed to be sleeping. I like overly large rabbits. I like shining potential. I like lackluster possibility ☻|
the gentle sway of the girl diagonal to my line of vision in last year's concert band
left me with far more of a sense of why instrumentation and musical sessions are such valuable therapeutic releases, with such an emotional climax and descent,
with such a power coveted, that of passion.
even in our final performance, glancing over during a clarinet solo while the flutes were assigned rest, the view of a relaxed and utterly at ease poise put together why exactly I cherish playing.
at times, you could swear she wasn't bothering to look to her sheet music at all. she knew the notes, the rhythms, the cues and the harmonies by heart, and would relinquish all of her angst with the pluck of our ...
it's like staring at a corner of your fucking asymmetrical room trying to find something or nothing or everything
but all i can think about is those pants in my bottom drawer that you said would look nice on me and how just like how i thought you'd look nice with me you don't and they don't and everything turns out this way with me staring at the grey corner in this new room I've been holed up in trying to write your memory out through my fingers