The music eludes me now the soundtrack in my memory resounding at the other end of the line. Let it ring for the eruption at someone else’s voice even though it won’t happen, I’m hanging from the end of the rope suspended from the real world: a surrogate self, holding onto the receiver.
I want to be in this world forever.
The telecom operator won’t grant me my wish.
The music is a song curling on a blank piece of paper unto the edge where I fall onto soft transparent strings. I wanted to learn to play the classical guitar; the person left me the night I asked. I kissed a kiss of death, breathing rings of darkness like the black cover of an erotic novel about a woman with no name. Who’s inside, burning in chains, all flesh and pain and hollows?
I shiver to think who lies in that shadow. Who lets in the rain splashing across my apartment piercing through the sphere from which I’m running away not knowing the image I’m clashing into: the suspense.
The music must stop.