I still wince as my fingers run up and down the strings. Each night, every night, I pick this thing up and practice. It's my go-to when I need a distraction from what I'm feeling. But it doesn't really work. I can mutter the note names and strings and fret numbers all I want. Music is too reflexive a knowledge to blot anything else out. Even my stumbling scales take on a rhythm that leaves room for my mind to wander.
Her face jolts me. My brain and heart are so confused. She's been dissolving in the maelstrom of other relationships I've trifled with, but once in a while she resurfaces.
The pads of my left hand are so sore. It's a deep, angry red kind of sore on the verge of blistering. I focus on the fingers that hurt least so they all achieve equal trauma.
If I practice long enough, eventually calluses will grow.
I just need to keep playing.
Her face again.
Just keep playing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing only with raw nerves.
My breath hitches in my lungs.
Just play until it doesn't hurt...
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (2 so far!)
Some people pray. You play. There must be a reason she keeps showing up. She must hold a key. .. You know how when you say a word over and over it loses all meaning to you for a while? Maybe if you take apart that image of her and study it for the key, it will change it's effect on you.
- #2759 Posted 3 years ago
Is she the music? The muse? A distraction? Obviously she is important. I recognize a version of her from my own life but are there any silver linings? Or only suffering? I'd potentially like so see this expanded from coping to success where, like in the movie Swingers, the protagonist turns a corner.
- #2819 Posted 3 years ago
Inspired by (sequel to):
I can't stop feeling her face.
Not seeing, feeling. We were so close so often that the shape of her …Lingering Pain
- Published 3 years ago.
- Story viewed 9 times and rated 0 times.
All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?