Glory of the 90’s (a series), "meshes in the afternoon"

This is where the fun begins.

This is like an old sad song I can not remember the words to. Like a famous old composition I can't decipher.

Sadness is found in our kisses these days, which are few and far between. I am the queen of sorrow... the kind of sorrow that abides in silence.

No-one knows how far the thread unravels but I feel tremors of buried grief in the rolling piano piano notes. This straightforward song, someone else's opus, puts me back within myself. I'm suddenly drowning in it. I am suddenly made of porcelain and balanced on a tightrope. I don't care where I fall. I just want the rush of the descent. I want the shake to my bones. The freedom of formlessness, the freedom of letting go. Perhaps a temporary sin?

The rain falls with the notes onto the pavement and grass and wooden porches outside. The dying insects voices rise up. Classical music plays on and gives me that partial suspension of disbelief I experience in theatres.

What is this inarticulated crying out inside me?

What is it always on the edge of my motives, on the tip of my tongue? In the curve of a note? In the cradle of hands moving in staccato motions typing words tumbling out too fast to catch all of them for print? I ... want...something... I cannot quite envision. I cannot ask for. Because it is too large for words. Because it is too small to claim.