I choose to love you in silence, for in silence I find no rejection. I choose to love you in loneliness, for in loneliness no one owns you but me... Rumi
in funeral air colourless grief bleeds like a memorial of ravens she sits alone on a stool in an empty bar - but the pianists plays with each touch of the key, her tears fall, lips quiver dripping down her face - mascara discolouring them black like muddy puddles on tip of scarlet lips the more he strokes keys, the more her sorrow spills - she hopes he will stop, but his melody continues a melancholic musing of tones in shades of sentimental sorrows misplaced in music her mind drifts in memories - she was his mahogany violin he her ivory flute God the composer if they had the chance tongues would sing a million songs receive an abundance of ovations some notes on song sheets can play to heavy some too mellow some remain blank- like her heart hollow, soundless, abandoned without lyrics, there is no music, ghosts of love bring no joy so there is no orchestra of dreams his voice forever silent like her tears ruining her foundation
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