Transported

Soft, whispered guitar,

The gentle rasp of a man professing love,

With Toothpaste Kisses and “heart-shaped bruises”

And suddenly the surroundings have changed,

To a tiny hotel room,

With a bed,

covered in tucked white sheets,

And a fan humming as it blows,

And a little window,

with thin, cream curtains,

looking out onto Parisian streets.

Streets bathed in summer sunlight and a quiet breeze.

But the music changes.

To the autotuned warble of a “god dream”

And a child preaching,

And now it’s a small orange car

And a sister right beside me.

A thick deluge of rain pounding on the glass,

Easy laughter bubbling up, and dancing out the window,

Serenaded as we drive to school,

mid-October, freshman year.

And then choir melts into one.

One smooth, silky voice

That pulls a blanket of warmth, and ease,

Over my head,

eyelids struggling to stay up,

In a hushed school library.

Curly brown hair rests next to mine,

One headphone in my left ear,

One in her right,

Listening to velvet.

Computer keys click, clack,

August sun floating in the windows,

illuminating dust-

And the music cuts.

Silence,

Digging into my sides,

Now speckled with purple-yellow hues,

A tender bruise that aches with each heartbeat I hear in my ears.

Tentative eyes open,

And I’m back in my room,

Alone.