I tell you to play the violin, but you brusquely snatch the cello and grate its strings.
Its sounds elucidate the hollow and empty echoes of our chests. Where can I find your cerulean eyes?
As you continue to vanish from my hold, I resume the troubled rattles of my lips. It only speaks your name when you will not listen.
Singing the words of a forgotten yesterday, you reach the in-between and haunt me with the hymns of the present.
I long to hear the crescendos of the violin; the one with promises.
By god, we are so voided.
WORD COUNT: 100
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