even in the silence we can still hear music playing — buzzing like bees in the shell of our ears to remind us all that loneliness is a shared emotion
even in the dark, there’s enough light for poetry to be read aloud to friends who listen through blue light screens and stay up during this pause
I believe now more than ever that art saves us, changes us, connects us unlike any other
because now I call friends to discuss the words we have yet to write, paint butterflies every night, every colour and shade
people keep in contact with me about the movies they’ve seen, promise to watch the ones that made the world brighter when I was little, discuss character deaths when we usually wouldn’t have the time to remember fiction left us so long ago
I don’t know the end of this story; the ending line, last paint stroke, final vibration of the piano strings and I’ve always been the person to read the last chapter before starting any novel
this isn’t my narrative, and I don’t think it’s yours, but we all end up in the epilogue the very same and the prologue has long passed
so tread carefully, adventure does wait, it waits for everyone
