Weaving pretty stories along the hardwood floors.
Barefeet pick up all the dust that falls from the new lyrics that are born.
Clumsy fingers on finely tuned strings echo through all the moonlit doors.
A melody pitted from heartstrings and a voice that will undo everything inside of you.
Honesty seeps through the cracks of the floors, under the sills, drifts through the screens, disperses, and she is clean.
There is a strength in strumming the chords wrong. In fumbles from E to C, in the echo of staccato.
In the sincerity of hope for tomorrow.


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