The Blues

When she sang the world stopped to listen. Time collapsed around that angelic voice to secure you and she in a bubble of smooth dreams and stories retold. There was no better place to be.
You didn’t have to see her because you felt her. You didn’t have to meet her because she was already known. There was something perfect in the pitch which struck at the soul, something familiar, reassuring. When you were down, she was down, but how she’d lift you up. If you were euphoric, she patted your back. If you were lost, she’d find you.
All she did was sing the blues: a woman; a voice; a soul. That’s all she ever wanted, and all we ever asked.