The tone, the rhythm, the melody. Every beat, every snare, every drum.
The sound waves projecting, and then contracting.
The perfect construction of these elements, all streamed together uniquely.
The pace of your heart quickens, and a bubble rises from your gut--nostalgia.
His words, half spoken, half sung. You slip into a haze--
"You don't have to... change for me."
Slowly sinking deeper into your daydream, every pulsating note
brings backs visions of your youth, memories that had been long forgotten.
(You, lying on your bed, dead to the surrounding universe,
only aware of the nauseous feeling in your stomach when you think of him.
And him, the him whom you'd forgotten until this moment,
the him who seemed so important at that time,
the him whom you'd barely known--and still do not)
The fuzzy bass and faint piano come into play.
(Strawberry lollipops, school dresses, pig tails in your hair
Long summers, iced tea, doodles on your homework)
"I don't want you calling, please don't call," he says.
The layers, the balance, the beauty.
How could this have fallen into the blank space of your mind?