I am stuck in minor chords. In between bar lines, sharps thrive. Turning notes into a cacophony of sorrow and terror. I am hanging by a thread. No. It is just a crescendo. It slowly dwindles. Snaps. I am falling, between staccatos and diminuendos. How I am avoiding stabby-sharps, I do not know. How I am avoiding impalement, I do not know. And suddenly I am floating. Flying. Levitating. Is this lucid dreaming? Is this Bohemia? I do not know where I am anymore.
I am lost.
Suddenly, there is someone. Running along the bar lines. Running away. Leaping over notes. But running, away. Away. "Wait!" I call. Fleeting human contact, I think. I am lost. You are lost. But for a moment, we were lost together.
I wonder who you are.
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