written for day 8 - lacie baskerville
She's like a song.
Penetrating, inconstant, cadent.
When she's there nothing else is, and when she leaves everything is dead silent.
Colorless, lightless, soundless, lifeless.
Everyone listens to her, but no one owns her, no one has her; no one can hold her longer than the song lasts. And when the music is over everything else also is.
She's like a song, a melodic presence that knows it's going to reach the end eventually, but never misses the rhythm, never changes the tune. She's taking her time, perfectly doing her performance, singing every note with all the life that she's got left, before the curtains fall and it's too late for any songs.
"What is it called?"
She's like a song, flowing through their minds, making them addicted to her, and then leaving them alone to cry in their misery. Soft and sneaky, calming and cunning. Slowly getting them attached to beautiful welcoming chains, restraining them forever, so they are never able to follow her, never capable of bringing the song back once it's over.
She sings and then she's carved in their minds. Buried so deep that they can never fully erase the melody and forget her. You can't escape once you hear her.
"Then how about 'Lacie'?"
She's like a song.
She floats, she dances; and then she's out of reach.