lips part to speak, but words seem to fail. any attempt would fall short, barely above a pained croak. when would vocal chords come to work again? had years of decay taken them completely. a sigh, trying to think of a way to convey his story that the other may understand. maybe —
“ where did you learn that ? ” he’d grown up with the eternal sound of strumming coming through the tall walls . a sister who had music in her veins , while his own were filled with ink & paint . the display had been impressive , sure . had it been the man’s love in ( )