there’s something so focused about the sound of a piano key.
structured, but melodic. accurate
yet soothing, somehow.
“well, what kind of things make you feel better, Alice?” she looks up for a moment, pondering this honestly.
“semi colons and the word simultaneously.”
it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did a month ago.
the ache has died down considerably. i only remember you a couple hundred times a day, instead of a few thousand. and blinking isn’t nearly as difficult as it was last week. i can take that moment now, sometimes, to breathe instead of rescanning that image of you two for any. possible. clue.
but yes, the pianos.
they help, too.
turning this whole breakdown into some sort of lyric.
just another scene in a script, three to four pages back, highlighted and then crossed out. edited.
tangibly forgotten with pens and very particular distractions. a conveniently placed coffee mug over the name of a character.
suddenly you are no longer the reason i have to stand still for a moment in the middle of my day, and choke back a sob no one else seems to even see; no.
no, instead our entire relationship becomes somehow just another story i seem to sell right back to you.
and better written.
Lindsey’s last piece for Backhand Stories was “or snake charming”.