The double bass, the strings of a hand held over ivory, she wore pearls of white sitting in her chair, in the middle of a room, her solitude, as she wanted it to be, no space filled, nothing loudly entering her imagination, and she closed her eyes, traveled through the dark carpet laid before her, where she went there was no way of knowing, she followed the twists and turns through clouded passages into the other side of her, with candles lining floor boards, winding through time, she reached the last part of her heart, racing too quickly, and a shadow filled her eyes, she saw the vanity table of her childhood dreams, with gowns of silk meaning moving in air through fortressed walls built in gravitational movements through sand, the white gloves sitting, waiting to be slipped on her hands to hide the need to build ships, the sounds entered her again and she reached for the pearls around her neck, and felt them one by one until each reminded the quiet dew about to fall over her lips.
Photo Credit
Photo by Melinda Cochrane – All Rights Reserved
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