She sang to me softly. Little love songs she wrote in her bedroom
and I listened with one ear glued to her voice and one free to the
sky. It’s amazing how much you can put in one insignificant word. I
think it’s in the way you sing it. The intensity you bring to every syllable.
This is your talent, my love. Believe me, you should be famous, or something.
No one cares, she said. No one wants to hear this dull dynamite heart of mine.
And as I listened more carefully, I had to agree. It’s nothing but fluff in a cloud.
A fart in a glass. A miniature world in the universe. Nothing but what you need it to be.
She sang to me