The day job is really getting to me at the moment. It’s starting to feel thin and unreal compared to what’s going on inside my head, and dredging up the energy to do productive things and make progress on a project which frankly doesn’t excite me any more is wearing me out.
When I’m this tired I start to lose words. Not exactly non-verbal, but maybe deverbalised. Which is not a good frame of mind for writing in.
Luckily, I wordsed a bit yesterday, so I will share this for your amusement and delectification.
He was a large man, and it was a small guitar. It would have looked like a child’s toy in anyone’s hands, but as he hunched over it and began to move his fingers softly across the strings, it looked as though it had been created in that moment, just for him.
The notes were low at first, melancholy, but with a touch of mischief. They sang their longing to the waiting room, and promised to satisfy that longing. The musician became more animated, and the sound grew in volume. Larger and larger it grew, filling that tiny space until it pressed in on our ears and squeezed our chests. Almost unbearably, the pitch climbed higher and dragged us helplessly along with it. Then before we could catch out breaths, it dropped away and left us suspended in mid air, grasping at the fading chords, not wanting to come back to earth.