She sits hidden away behind a dark mountain at her old piano,
playing the notes that only she can hear as I lay black words onto white pages hoping she will somehow hear me.
Beneath my pen I sit beside her, watching her long fragile
fingers speak out to the river that flows between the spaces I fail to cross.
As she looks to the empty chair I see tiny words colliding behind her eyes as she blinks tears and plays another for the empty spaces surrounding everything.
I try hard to explain how I want it to be heard but the words get so easily trapped inside my overcrowded mind when all I crave is to be lost behind her black mountain whispering the secrets that I've never shared before while I listen to her sing every song she is yet to write, with her voice as cracked as the beauty of the hills in which we hide.
playing the notes that only she can hear as I lay black words onto white pages hoping she will somehow hear me.
Beneath my pen I sit beside her, watching her long fragile
fingers speak out to the river that flows between the spaces I fail to cross.
As she looks to the empty chair I see tiny words colliding behind her eyes as she blinks tears and plays another for the empty spaces surrounding everything.
I try hard to explain how I want it to be heard but the words get so easily trapped inside my overcrowded mind when all I crave is to be lost behind her black mountain whispering the secrets that I've never shared before while I listen to her sing every song she is yet to write, with her voice as cracked as the beauty of the hills in which we hide.