I am my mother's voice. I am all of the strings attached to Time's vibrating bow. I have yet to find what the words could have been, if I had spoken sooner. The palm of my hand, still empty, yet expecting.
Careful not to bruise your past on those rocky falls. I'd be tempted to throw one or two over the fragile fence. Picture a young girl sobbing in the yellow grass of some Sicilian ruins while her face simultaneously disappear from sight at the edge of the cliff.
It was I. The collector of flowering crowns. And it is me. Escaping yet another muddy death, as I do every day. The routine of having the Abyss on speed dial.
The chords vibrate. Still here, never falling. But the words, missing. I hear myself mumbling what I would have wanted to hear, the intimacy of a mother daughter relationship, the passion of a teenager, waiting to be sanctified for the merits of these strenuous years.
The sound of that chord, the vibration of time you ask? Why it's Diana Ross's Upside Down, the only frequency I hear.
Commentaires
Pas encore de commentaire ! Soyez le premier à en ajouter un !