Notes with regard to notes

Music.

It conjures up some idea, some perfect melody or some nostalgic memory. The way vibrations reach your skin and sink through you and into your bones. The way your ears are tuned toward it, like how red catches your eye on a busy street.

Inspiring, at the very best. Experiencing it live makes me wish I took more time to do so more often. Watching two musicians, aged and experienced. Honing their technique through the years. Years.

Plan.

I have a ten year plan for writing. December marks “year one”. Foolish, to put a life-span on a dream that is a dream.

Brian laughed at me when I said I felt dreary and so I wanted to read some Emily Dickinson. But, you know, it’s heartening to read someone’s writing who feels a bit sad. A bit worn out. It reassures you that you’ll make it through. I wonder about Dickinson. I’m not saying I will be like her but yet, Dickinson!

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