The only time I exist is when I sing.
The only time I’m happy. When the world stops, and the music starts, and I lift my voice. My instrument for life. My magic. My secret. My heart, soul, blood, reason.
The rain pours on the roof and the people are screaming and the noise is endless, but I can sing. I can fly. I have wings.
When I sing with you, I’m giving you a part of my soul. We share the same soul, when we sing together. If I am close to the music, and you are close to the music, then we are close to each other — and we may not even know it. The bond is invisible and glows heart-red. The bond is adamantine.
Music is Goddess. There is nothing higher. There is nothing holier. Music is Goddess, and when I sing, I touch the Goddess’s face. All Her faces, in all Her glories.
That which brought me an indelible sorrow is the only thing that brings peace and relief, now, as I’m trapped in hell.
I can still sing.
If nothing else, I can still sing.