Cool mind, calm hands. Tight focus, tense grip. The mind echoes the body; the body, the mind. My hands race after my thoughts- they’ll never catch up. My feelings chase after my sensations- why do I react this way? The body cannot answer the mind; the mind, the body. Advertisements
“Let’s go for a walk down Easy Street Where you can be reborn” -“BITE” by Troye Sivan Bourbon Street was quiet that night, as it probably had never been before, and curiously absent of alcohol, drag queens, ladies of the night, or any other typical signs of revelry. Darkness was pulled over the city like… Continue reading Day 128: Easy Street
Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum. Shshshshshshsh. She thought the incessant hum of the railroad tracks would never go away. She could feel it in her breastbone- the throbbingly heavy vibrations of the steel wheels against the steel wheels thrilled through her ribs. The clattering was loud and annoying. It brought her back to herself, reminding her of where she… Continue reading Day 126: Rhythm
Violetta’s family had a long history. Yes, they were immigrants. Yes, they were Italian. Yes, those two things combined to make the family’s history long, rich, and sacred, passed down from generation to generation. But that was only part of the story. The rest of the story was that almost everyone in Violetta’s family lived… Continue reading Day 124: Longevity
The keys are a lover, and he knows them best. The notes are a recipe, and he is the master chef. The strings are a choir, and he merely directs. The pedals are an engine, and he only steers. The piano is his gift, and when he plays, others cry.
“Where did all the good go? Baby, this is where you’re dead wrong” -“Here’s to the Zeroes” by Marianas Trench He was righteously angry, blood simmering to a boil, hands and heart hot to the touch. Her voice was in his head- “There’s nothing left, Michael, you’ve just got to accept that,” Becca had sighed.… Continue reading Day 121: Zeroes
Violetta. Purple, it meant. Some of her more tried and true American friends, those whose families had been Americans for generations, laughed a little about it sometimes. “So fancy, so Italian,” they teased. “Why not just Violet?” Violetta always smiled with them, for she knew they meant well. It wasn’t as odd as other names,… Continue reading Day 117: Violetta