Can thoughts be orchestrated?
The noise was loud, deafening , piercing right through her ear drums to head throbbing sonicity. It lashed out relentlessly, mercilessly. She would not stop it. She could not. It was after all her own music.
There were moments when she could manage to turn it off for a brief respite, and others when she could turn it down, when the strains were lower, softer and if you listened hard you could almost hear the rudiments of a piece which was once joyous , brilliant, and there were other moments, though few and far between when the song would burst forth into a crescendo, a medley of desires, and at moments like these she would smile such that her eyes crinkled at the corners, she would talk such that there was a promise of sunshine and she would sing along.
But sometimes the music was frighteningly loud, jarring, shattering hopes, eroding convictions, tearing to shreds all measures of normalcy, the notes dark and foreboding, casting a shadow over her face. In such times she would be wary, her eyes would reflect the sounds of the music and they would shift warily, uneasily and if she were lucky she would manage to shut them and drown herself in that disturbed melody.
And sometimes she would slowly find herself even enjoying it, she would deceive herself into understanding it, she would find comfort in the words and a sense of familiarity in the music. And these were the most frightening, when she would find herself slipping into the cacophony , the music taking hold of her and she letting herself be sucked in .
These were the most intriguing, cause when she returned she would often not recognize herself.
The noise was loud, deafening , piercing right through her ear drums to head throbbing sonicity. It lashed out relentlessly, mercilessly. She would not stop it. She could not. It was after all her own music.
There were moments when she could manage to turn it off for a brief respite, and others when she could turn it down, when the strains were lower, softer and if you listened hard you could almost hear the rudiments of a piece which was once joyous , brilliant, and there were other moments, though few and far between when the song would burst forth into a crescendo, a medley of desires, and at moments like these she would smile such that her eyes crinkled at the corners, she would talk such that there was a promise of sunshine and she would sing along.
But sometimes the music was frighteningly loud, jarring, shattering hopes, eroding convictions, tearing to shreds all measures of normalcy, the notes dark and foreboding, casting a shadow over her face. In such times she would be wary, her eyes would reflect the sounds of the music and they would shift warily, uneasily and if she were lucky she would manage to shut them and drown herself in that disturbed melody.
And sometimes she would slowly find herself even enjoying it, she would deceive herself into understanding it, she would find comfort in the words and a sense of familiarity in the music. And these were the most frightening, when she would find herself slipping into the cacophony , the music taking hold of her and she letting herself be sucked in .
These were the most intriguing, cause when she returned she would often not recognize herself.
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Get Well Soon!!
“Music is the shorthand of emotion”
-Leo Tolstoy
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