I extend my fingers to the headphones that of which lie tangled beside my thighs. I reach down, plug them into my computer, lift the buds to my ears, and stop.
Birds chirping.
It is seven forty-three in the morning.
Music keeps me going. At seven forty-three or at two thirty-four, music keeps me going.
It wasn’t until now that I considered it a block. Something that creates a space between self and reality.
Dancing between the lines of lyrics we will never understand, are words that hold a unique meaning to every listener.
Put down the buds and listen to the birds chirping.
It is seven forty-three in the morning.
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