A sound

Andrea Maia

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January, middle of the night, weekday.

I hear the music so deep inside.

Playing a soft tune that only bare ears can listen.

A sound so soft that the lightest of cotton could not go up against.

A sound so silent yet so full.

And it can only begin to pour out of me.

Slowly but steadily.

Trying to find some part to seep out.

Air.

It needs to breath .

Water.

It needs to be quenched, 

No dryness here.

Only soaked with the power of a million suns, And coated with silk covering.

Making it the brightest but smoothest thing you’ve ever seen,

But you can’t touch.

For if so the magic will disappear.

The mysteriousness turning into dust.

And this sound re-seeping back into the wholeness from which it was found. 

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A sound