"Get up!"

The voice of a disappointed one who nurtured me had interrupted a dream I no longer remember. My mind tunes back to its most played station—the only one I'd never live had I a choice. What difference does it make? Whether I slumber or wake? Became a daily chorus after I heard more and more and more and more of what's in this station.

I am born a small person with a large shadow always trailing behind. It enlarges as I age and I fear it would engulf me. There are nights I spent waltzing, swinging, jazzing all alone. Thinking of a song that may never truly be. Every person I have known looks at me with happiness in their eyes. Every person I will know roaring and clapping as I end my performance. It was one practiced passionately for months, with a companion just as passionate about me and all that comes with.

That station—my favorite one—drifts me to sleep. The possibility of this nightmarish one merging with it keeps me in tune. Somehow I will get through. Somehow I will reach the last song having lived the ones my favorite station plays. I wrote.

I hope