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Words make you think. Music makes you feel. A song makes you feel a thought.
― Yip Harburg
With every word I pen down, I see how your innate melody distorts them to fall in line with the tune you were born with. In all its splendour and glory, I see your music seeping into the hearts of the grieved and happy. The music whose essence I create. As I write and scratch off words, I see you in the distance, giddy with the impatience of not being called sooner. I see you held prisoner at the threshold of the paper that shelters your would-be lyrics while I struggle to find that perfect word that sends pangs of warmth and sorrow flying to every listener, kind enough to lend you their ears.
My heart grieves with every syllable I give birth to, on this magical night, knowing they won’t be mine after you enslave them to your tantalizing beauty of rhythm. I can feel myself running out of ink while my metal nib continues to write and scratch words over and over. Oh, how I wish I could make them sing for me like you will.
Through parchment after parchment, you sit and watch as I grow wearier and wearier exhausting myself to hunt for that perfect word we both know doesn’t exist yet. Word after word, syllable after syllable, period after period; oh how we toil through the moonlit night! I’m at the last verse now and I hear your heart flutter with the joy of completion as I admire my handiwork.
“Won’t you help to sing these songs of freedom?”
― Bob Marley
I find myself letting out a long, sad sigh of relief as I put that period at the end of the last word of the final verse. I survey my piece of work and watch as you soar into the words, breathing life into every nook and corner of every word. I take my place on the chipped wooden box reserved for me and listen as you’re sung, every word falling into a place of its own. I listen as the music drifts and drips down my soul, seeping into my heart and enslaving my mind forevermore.
My soul twirls to the rhythm of the song, you make the skies sing tonight.
Oh, dear song, how I wish I could write you all over again.
Perhaps it is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart.
― Stephen R. Lawhead, Merlin
Introverted Thoughts aka D
Quick note: My friend, Diamond @ Build A Bears Furever is hosting a photostory contest to observe her fourth blogiversary! The best part is, you get to choose which of her bears play your characters (if you want) and believe me when I say, she’s got all sorts of bears with different outlooks and personalities! I’d absolutely love it if you could check out this post and participate!