separation

a rush. The delicate fabrication of a thousand musical canvases. The wave of the conductor's hand. A soft whisper of winds slowly fading into a beautiful arrangement of colours, swaying back and forth within the heartbeat of their internal melody. I watch discretely, observing every preformer, listening oh so carefully. The sounds connect within me as I sit motionless in my seat amonst the audience.
 All of a sudden the stage in front of me blurs into an array of blended lights and sounds, my mind frozen in chaos. The flashes fade abruptly and suddenly I find myself in a strange and foreign place. I see myself, in my mid twenties, standing near a fireplace with an infant in my arms. My face is worn and bears a somber expression. My delicate brown eyes still shine with a certain hope, clinging desperately to an old promise. My curly brown hair lays in a messy heap except for a few loose curls falling softly down the side of my face. My timid figure stands clothed in nothing but a thin blouse and a tattered brown skirt, unkempt and ragged- my only protection against the frigid cold. Despite my impoverished appearance, an undeniable sense of beauty remains within my fragile countenance.

(not finished)