She was a rest in a bar full of staccatos.
She was the note played pianissimo and the key that didn’t sing.
She had no forte in her soul, her steps were slurring phrases.
This girl was the music of a broken string.
Hers were the fingers stiff and cold; and the lip plate never kissed.
A metronome of self-doubt always ticking in her ears.
Never allowed a change in tempo, never shown to spread her wings.
Singing lessons from the deaf for 15 years.

The other was a pickup note, anxious to play the tune.
The dancer skipping steps up ledger lines.
The crescendo of passion, the diminuendo of a lullaby,
This girl no blaring trumpet could outshine.
But though her eyes were made of stardust her heart pulsed slowly, portato.
No accompanist, no duet, no conductor to keep the beat.
Her cheeks stung from the disguise, her worry slowed her, legato.
Compensating for loneliness with quick tempo deceit.

But, like broken triads, fate had it the two would somehow fit.
Drawn together as tied notes, destined to play their piece.
One so controlled by the orchestra, the other yearning for a duet.
The enchanting harmony within them had always burned to be released.
They played as one instrument, arpeggios overlapping in a heavenly key.
Swinging in synchronization, the melody swam magically through the night.
No longer controlled by metronomes, no longer stuck singing solo,
Forever, together, their own sheet music they would write.

- p. winter

soft chords
makes me melt
soprano
alto
voices twirl together
like ribbons
like sunlight
in water
beautiful
hopeful
reminds me
of the past
i cry
the pain is just as strong
as ever
immersed in memory
plunged into icy waters
frozen in time
all because
of those
soft chords

Don’t come close…
I’m covered in thorns, she said.
I ignored and tried to hug her
and found myself bleeding,
trying to put my arms around her.

Don’t! she said.
And I struggled to wrap my arms around her.
Each spine of thorn piercing through me,
breaking my bones and bursting out of my back.

Stop it! she cried.
And I kept struggling,
bleeding and shaking,
till I got my arms fully around her.

Why? She asked.
The light in you,
seems worth fighting for.
The love in you,
seems worth having.
The happiness in you,
seems worth provoking.

You are dying! she said.
Some causes are worth dying for.
For pain mirrors what it means love.
And I will give my last breath
just to let you know
You are worth loving…