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So the story goes
As the song ran from my ears to the brain, and from the brain to my heart, there was no denying who was in control; it wasn’t me. Not a single chord connected between the song and my emotions. They didn’t fit. If my eyes had gone closed it wouldn’t made a difference. Pitch black, sitting in the corner of the room where the only movements came from a pair of headphones. Then as the song running from an old CD player began to skip began to skip began to skip began to skip began to skip… The room carried itself without any light, and there was no knowing if it was in to imagine somewhere completely different, or just to forget the house entirely. The walls, the home, the lifestyle, weekdays and weekends and then the repeat. They make you’re world smaller. There’s no room to breathe. The music didn’t end. It ran over the lyrics “will yo-, will yo-, will yo- will yo-” but then “love me” couldn’t possibly be lyrics coming up, not anymore. The same way the CD player couldn’t think of what came next, well, neither could anyone else.
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