Monday, February 2, 2015

She was home (2)

This series is dedicated to some people I love and what defines them..

She looked out of the sliding doors that were perpetually in an identity crisis of whether they were windows or doors. The view was too good to be true. It was pouring like nobody’s business. The trees were swaying moodily, dancing reluctantly to the breeze. The lake, on the other hand was ecstatic, the ripples gushing forward gaily. 
She held that tiny miracle in her hand, the piece of magic that could play music anywhere. Her head was leaning against the pillow and she sat on the huge beanbag which was so snug that she knew she needed someone to come wrest her out of it.
 She was tapping her feet to the slow rhythm of the song. Music moved her like nothing else. She could feel every beat percolate into her very being. She felt it filling her up with an emotion so intense, it was overwhelming to say the least. She didn’t even realize the goose bumps sneak up on her. How could something so beautiful come from nothing - something that could fill you up with bliss or move you to tears. Every word so magical, strung together seamlessly to tell a story.
She turned up the volume, till all she could hear, feel and think of was the music. And then she started singing along. At first slowly and soon like she was the only person on this planet earth, like nothing and no one could stop her in this trance.

Why did she have to do the mundane things of life. When she could listen to music instead, when she could breathe it in, soak every tiny bit of her in it and feel more alive than anything else could make her feel.    

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