It's 3 a.m.
The birds are singing in the courtyard of my building. Someone in the building is playing piano. Erik Satie, Trois Gymnopedies.
Talking about music is fantastic. But sometimes you remember that the music is infinite. And then all the words in your head sound tangled and oblique.
But I guess that's what keeps writers going. Trying to untangle them and lay them out clearly, in lines, maybe make a map of the stars or something.
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