Rouds We

Put on a beat and start reading.....

The whisper of the needle on the old vinyl accompanies my every step on the wet asphalt, as if the city itself were a record I was spinning around and around. The overhead lamps hum in an irregular rhythm, casting distorted shadows on the ground that reach out like fingers to grab my ankles and pull me back into the darkness. The piano theme whispers in my ear the stories I left in the spit-filled doorways three blocks away, trying to convince me that I need to go back to where I started.

The drums are a reminder that the city will squeeze every last drop of truth out of me. The roads twist and those endless circles used to spin in my soul like a groove where a needle on a vinyl record gets stuck right where hope ends. But now I feel that crack in my headphones, that moment when old pain turns into an empty background hum. My record just skipped.

It all falls into darkness, it disappears in the fog that rolls along the ground like a heavy curtain behind a stage that I no longer want to play on. I have a peace in my soul that is cold and warm at the same time. It is the peace of a wolf that has broken free from its chain and is now walking through the night.....

I keep going. The city behind me falls silent and I finally hear my own heartbeat, which is no longer looking for a way back. The record keeps spinning, but I am no longer the music playing on it.

WeRa AKAI StillRoom.art

I am the silence between the notes, the one that left in the middle of the chorus while the record keeps spinning...