Peripheral

I thought I saw her in a dream, a long time ago. Even after the passing of the seasons and the years, her presence never really left me. Returning, she drifted in over my thoughts like fresh clouds for a new summer, her perfume a sweet scent in the afternoon air. It was the dream I never forgot. You know how it plays out – boy meets girl, boy and girl fall for each other, and they live happily ever after. Everything is amazing, until the percentages insist that it all ends with a broken heart. A careless smile of optimism puts any doubts to the sword, and while it’s true you shouldn’t believe everything you read, the thought that only a couple of relationships survive the initial innocence of young love was always there, with an ‘if’ waiting to crush my naive heart.

In the dream, she was sitting on a bench, smiling at me, a peach coloured, kind glow surrounding the shape of her body. Her smile pulled my eyes in, until my soul was to be found swimming inside the soft light. Her long hair would fall down, casting itself away against the backdrop of summer. Incandescent light illuminated her beauty, and occasionally her hair would dance into the light. Her smiling presence was a soundtrack to the butterflies fluttering against my heart, cocooned inside my chest. Her name was beauty itself. The feelings could’ve been accompanied by a dash of music, lit by sunshine through a bright, passionate piano and reverberating out of an opening in the soul, a caring love that was shown through words and actions. It would last forever.

A while later, after the rain of broken promises had fallen, our photographs acted as faded memories. Rain soaked the corners, until the photographs drooped like a forlorn rose. The rain cleared away the tension in the air, changing ever so slightly but perceptibly. Inspiration ran dry. Excitement ebbed away. A thousand wounded roses lay by the side of the street, crushed, always drifting further apart in the breeze; her past was littered with broken hearts.

Autumn awakens.

Instead of feeling lonely, the music is by your side, reassuring you that everything will be fine. A love-letter, for Rachel, is written in a dreamy swirl of ambience, arriving with haste, but with no-one to read it. ‘Don’t believe everything you read’, I had once said, and the memory is still there as she tosses the letter, my apologies, aside. She has disappeared, shrouded by the autumn mists, obscured forever, departing as quickly as she had arrived, flying past in skies of love like clouded synths; those memories come back, framed by that first encounter in the sunshine, but with the knowledge that it is over. She has found someone else. Music is a love letter, this one not intended for Rachel, but to the heart, crying out the words, ‘Heal me’.

The strings cry out themselves; a lonely studio, but one that is shared with the companion of music, searching, calling; desperate for the dream, the shared laughter, to continue. He lost her amidst the fog. Into the early morning, the music is there to soothe. Eyes that have skipped sleep are as red as her once-smeared lipstick.

As the birdsong calls the dawn, the music plays; radiating outwards, flooding the studio with a brilliant, incandescent light. She isn’t there as she was before, smiling, but as Skybird progresses, it becomes easier to let go. It may be that the music is smiling. Skybird releases what wanted to leave; it might not be the Disney ending, but it wasn’t a complete failure. It was the only option. The atmosphere is tinted with sadness, but acceptance too. Healing soundscapes are there for the body and for the soul, providing consoling sounds of healing, and sounds for healing. Soaking into the skin, and easing away the raw wounds of a vicious attack, the music is the true love, always there with an outstretched hand. The music sounded better with you, but Skybird understands that the time is up, and it’s all about letting her go. She said you got to be free. Letting a loved one fly away is always painful, but sometimes it is necessary; released into the wild like a thousand butterflies vacating the heart.

And yet, you come out on the other side. Rising from the struggles, we really are made stronger, more resilient; only when the night comes will there be light. Life returns to normal, or as normal as you can make it. At last, after waiting patiently, there is the beautiful touch of another love, caressing away the pain, shining out of another dream; notes that are written lovingly, carefully, over the music, signed in black keys, to be opened at the end of our days. These are emotions that never depart, long after her smile has gone.

Be free, chica.

www.hawkmoonrecords.bandcamp.com

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