Can we hear it in you when you speak of the ones you love? Does it sound in the very vibrations of your voice; in the delicate utterance of soft words escaping from your lips? Does it beat in the teardrops that cling to your eyelashes, in the wells of passion that overflow to trace art upon your cheeks?
Blue is the feeling of serenity on a cloudless, breezeless but comfortable day. It is the perfect smoothness of polished stones. It is the sound of a piano played by someone who truly cares about what they produce.
I taught myself, too long ago, how to draw a deep breath and dive into the whirlpool that is my heart, scraping fingernails along the sides of the wells of emotion that exist there, finding every last vestige of desolation, loneliness, and agony and turning them into the letters that make up the words in my writing.
I look toward the thousand stars that I know are out there, and down to my own shaking hands, and know that there is someone to hold them, and I am filled with such inexplicable solace that I forget, for a moment, to draw breath.
You are the perfect arrangement of harmonies that leaves me wondering just how something like you is capable of existing. You are the lyrics so artfully arranged that I am left to desperately try and catch the breath that I’ve forgotten how to take in.
The world is a terribly beautiful place, full of terribly beautiful and beautifully terrible people, and she will learn, one day, that the only one of them she will ever be able to fully save is herself.