opus

perhaps this is the first formal experience of loneliness. i don't know if that is the right way to phrase it. not truly because I am scared of admittance, but i don't know if loneliness necessarily describes it. i know what i do not feel. i don't feel empty. i don't feel terribly angry. i don't feel sad, well not very sad. it's just this tiny itching feeling. this little uneasy ball of muscles, wax, knot, that sorts of lays inside me. i do not always feel this, actually maybe i DO always feel this. i guess i cannot really tell. all i can describe it by is, well, say you have a tickle in your throat. and you think if you swallow, have a drink of water, drink a cup of tea, or some more water, it will dissipate. it doesn't. so you give up on all those other distractions, but you keep swallowing, you keep trying to get some sort of saliva, something to ease the nagging itch, the scratch.
you know in time it will heal, or you will just abandon your cold all together, perhaps even abandon your own infected throat. that's the only adequate description i have. maybe it's a heaviness of the heart. maybe it's all of this and some or less.

i imagine my keyboard is a piano key. and every stroke of my fingers brings a delightful noise, noise that so freely flows it becomes a melody, it starts of darling and ends in ghosts.