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Through the Walls

December 7, 2010

      At night I hear music through my walls.  Songs broken and 
nameless like the people playing them. I’ve always wondered if walls 
had ears, but now I know they have a voice.
      Smooth and comforting, they speak a language I’m all too 
familiar with.  I lean back against the headboard and watch the notes
paint a mural on the wall infront of me.  Sing me a mural.  No lyrics, but a story is tucked between the notes.  Each night they tell me a different one.
Stories of broken hearts and lovers lost.  Stories about falling in and out of 
the transient void we call “love”. Angry rants wrap themselves around
political ideologies on the days when sunshine forgets to brush a smile
across the wall. They laugh with me when my tears escape captivity.
      They do scales.  Doe rae me fa so la te doe.  Those are the nights 
I look forward to the most.  I know they’re warming up for something
special.  Something new?  Nothing excites me  more.  The songs aren’t
so broken on these nights.
      Listen.  The strings.  Plucked ever so tenderly.  Tell me 
another one. Tell me another story.  You must have ears, or there 
would be no stories.  Do you have eyes? Can you feel me when I reach 
out and touch you?  When I press my cheek to your cold chest, and 
plead to be closer. I want to share.  Give and take.  I give you my 
self and you take me away from here.  Just don’t let the music stop. 
Please, don’t let the music stop.  Close in around me and keep your 
songs just beyond my reach.
      You make me smile. You keep me calm.  My dreams float on the 
notes you slide under my door.  Sweet and horrible things you tell me in these 
notes.  Why trust me with your secrets?
      Your guitar. You and your guitar.  Your old broken guitar still plays
beautiful music. Play me a song on your rusty strings and let me call
her woman.  Your melodies keep me company on lonely nights, I might
be able to fall in love.
      Be beautiful.  Give me more to look at then dead eyes opened on 
an empty canvas.  Be the music through my walls. Be the gently plucked 
strings I pray through the sunlit hours to hear under moon light.  Be 
my ceaseless song inside an empty room.  Be my music through the 
walls.  Sing my prayer to God as I lay me down to sleep. 
Say no more than what is needed. Say you love me.  I listened to the 
walls tonight.  They said their first word.  “Hello?” Hello.
      At night I hear music through the walls.  Songs broken and 
nameless like the people playing them.  I’ve always wondered if walls 
had ears, but now I know she has a voice.

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