Friday, October 8, 2010

confessions of a girl who loves to sing.

She stands on a stage in front of her audience, wearing the dress she only wears for them.
Hands by her side, smiling that secret smile; she sings with the confidence she only feels around them.
They adore her. They hang onto her every note, mesmerized by her music
Before them, she can sing out loud and unrestrained.
She holds out her arms, giving them things she gives to no one else.
Holding her hands wide open, she receives what they alone can give her.
When she curtsies they clap loud and unrestrained.
"More!" they cry. "Encore!" they beg.
She's never been known to turn them down.
They understand. They understand the songs she sings for them.
Her performances for them are unparalleled.
So clearly she feels their respectful presence,
is it any wonder that she forgets she's just a girl...
standing on a chair in her high-ceilinged kitchen.
All alone except for the echo of her own voice.

{Picture of: St. Vincent.}


  1. This is beautiful! I was cought up in reading it and at the end a chill went through me from head to toe. well done! :D

  2. Thank you ever so much! That is such an encouragement - I cannot even begin to say how much! :)

  3. Oh, amazing! I was not expecting the twist at the end. This is truly beautiful, a real triumph of writing. You craft your words wonderfully, I certainly feel the dreaminess and the slight melancholy at the end. ♥

  4. I cannot begin to express how much your lovely words hearten me - thank you so much! :)

  5. ah dear; this was almost haunting, and quite quite lovely. keep dreaming, kindred spirit. <3

  6. I will, dearest! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. <3


Silhouettes of a secret. A story told over a cuppa. Or perhaps just sitting on that stone bench, basking in the moonlight... and not saying anything at all.

("I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks." -Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)