persephone

can you help me?

i want the promise of a real spring.

old emotions coming back to me.

---------

when i think of getting out of this place i think of what it would be like to miss hearing the music. sometimes angry, or sad, or soothing. the music of this place sings it's own songs to each of us. and every day i feel like it's playing just for me. there is nothing like the sound of loving the people around you, even if they make it almost impossible to be within ten feet of them sometimes. because, we can't all get along with everyone else ALL the time. we move past it. we get over miscommunications and heavy words. because we love. and we make music of our own.

so when i think of leaving this place - leaving that is, not this town, this state, or this area, but this life - i think aboout the songs we all sing, and the people who's songs beat in time and key and pulse with my own. and i stay, to see what sound we can create.

to the music makers, you know who you are: however loud and angry, or soft and sweet, or fast and dying, your songs have touched me in different ways at different places. always changing and yet so engrained in me. just when i think i've heard a song in every way, you each surprise me and make it new.

to the music makers, i can still hear my song in all of you.

as always, much love.