The Songstress

It’s not audio flowing through my headphones but pure feeling. I am taken, spirited away into a space between the natural and the created, deposited somewhere in between without ceremony. I’m glad I am.

     Boom, it starts, then a dull incessant thud takes over. Next, her voice. She soothes me in moments – no easy task – sweeps me away. I’m gone, lost, moved beyond reason. I’m no longer laying on my sofa with my feet in the air; no longer dreaming up crazies or letting off dreams: I’m gone, taken, captured.

     She’s singing about me, I know it with a clarity, an unpolluted certainty that I’ve never afforded anything in my life. In this moment, I’m hers.

     I don’t recall my eyes closing, but they have. It matters not for I’m awash in a sadness of someone else’s creation. But it is also mine, my very own, and I feel it’s pulse, it’s heartbeat. The sadness is female and I am not, but for the duration of the songstress’s lilting song, I could be.

     I’m lost in an ocean of sonic waves, adrift in infinite audio. There is no one else but me. Oh, and her.

     I think I’m in love with a woman I’ve never met. Is she a siren sent to entice and cajole? Who cares. She’s mine and I am hers and that is that. We are melded: her voice with my mind.

She sings to me across an infinite distance, yet drips honey from lips that brush my ears. How can this be? How can a woman I’ve never met stir my soul with sound? How? But she does, and I care and I want and I am and would and I will and I have.

     And, then, as if someone who’s hated me for all eternity seeks to break my heart, pulls the plug on my perfect melancholy, she stops. My singer, my siren, is gone. The music trails away as if trickling out of my soul.

     For a few seconds that last for hours, I’m devastated. I’m lost. I’m set adrift. But if this is only a dream it is one I can relive. She is fabricated for my soul-stirring, not others.

     I lean over to where my phone has fallen on the carpet and press back. And like the first lark of Spring, the first sound the universe has admitted into the silence, she’s back. My beautiful angel is back.

     I allow tired eyes to close and let her pour over my soul. I shall do so again and again and again.

 

The End

29 thoughts on “The Songstress

  1. so lovely, and I know that feeling. I have a recording of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah done by Rufus Wainwright. I can see his soul in his voice, feel my soul in Cohen’s words, so beautiful. I recently went to Florida with some family and on the flight back, the sun was setting and the view from the plane window was breathtaking and in my headphones I kept play Hallelujah over and over and over, the music and view fit together perfectly, I’ve never enjoyed a flight so much! much love and peace to you my friend 🙂 Michelle

  2. This is a beautiful short story Richard, it really plays to our innermost feelings, the phenomenon of falling in love blindly.

  3. I love that world. It’s very inspiring. I’ve been listening to some darker stuff today I might switch to those lovely tunes you are listening to. They do pour over you don’t they. wonderful story Richard! 🙂

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