Her breathing slowed, chest swelling with every surge of the cellos, shivering at the release of tension in the violins.
“It’s the first day of spring / and my life is starting over again”
Was it? It felt like winter here, on the cold tile.
“For I do believe / that everyone / has one chance / to fuck up…their lives
Like a cut down tree / I will rise again / and I’ll be bigger…and stronger than ever / before”
The lingering pause lulled her but each time his voice rang again, she wanted more.
“I’m still here hoping that one day you may come back”
The smoothness of his voice, the reassurance of hoping, of future, pacified her gasps of trepidation. And again the cello cut through the night, their mournful wails made tranquil by the staccato rapping of the drum and metallic twang of guitar.
