• thewriterwithamillionstories 6w

    Fingers twisting and turning knobs desperately trying to find the one that's gone out of order

    This does not go away. It sits in the dark, waiting for me to slide into bed so it can whisper in my ear, hides into old songs just so it can hit me like a melancholy note out of nowhere. It is the landmine I accidentally step on, that one sour note that rings out when you haven't tuned your ukulele well, the one that leaves you with your head tilted to one side, fingers twisting and turning knobs desperately trying to find the one that's gone out of order.
    Sometimes you find it. You twist a little and it sounds almost alright, almost but not quite, but whatever, it'll do. So you play a song and you pack the instrument away, till a few days later, you play a note and everything makes you want to cry. So you do. You cry, you cry sitting at the window sill with the curtains pulled over, trying your hardest to stay quiet, you cry on the phone, you cry till the neon lights darken, till the trees cast foreboding shadows on the walls, you cry wondering why you're crying.
    Sometimes, you find out why. Other times, you write something that makes absolutely no sense and doesn't have a proper beginning or ending because that's how life feels, like an endless reel of the worst movie you've ever seen that you know is crap but you keep watching because there's nothing better to do. Other times, you write something and leave it incomplete, leave it hanging, waiting for something that
    Probably will never come

    ┬ęthewriterwithamillionstories