The notes caressed.
They opened windows
when I saw no doors.
They beat with my heart
and ran down my face,
wet and stinging and salty.
And even when they were too much
I could stand them when they were loud,
when they were hammers on my soul,
when I couldn't bear them to be gentle.
The notes could laugh,
and if I could see them,
some would look like my smile.
And when panicked they'd all left,
I snatched yet more out of the air
and held them to my chest.
They were sobs that held me
when my body wracked apart,
they were all that was left to love of me.
But now the pain has grown
too sharp to bear within,
now I'm all ache and no song.
All lonely nights of strangers
and dreams of those familiar
with no self of which to speak.
Faces have taken their place,
some for whom I care,
others less.
Now, if I'd let them in,
they'd worm their way into my cracks
and weaken me till shattering.
Now, they all sound like mistakes
and people's voices and things
I wish someone would frighten away.
The notes didn't matter so
when a man could take their place
and I knew who he was.
And they weren't needed
before I knew something was missing
and had at least a name to whisper.
But now the notes just hurt.