Cadence

This is sad, but it is temporary. It is now:

Sitting alone, staring into the depths of a cup of coffee.

Thinking is lonely.

I don't have any coffee. I see depths in everything. I stare.

It's lonely.

It hurts.

A world made of bells, made of strings and stretched membranes, made of bars, made of air columns, a world of bells that ring out fundamentals only at the right frequency, and all the rest is noise. A world full of overtones and people who hold their hands over their ears. Syncopated rhythms, triads, and fifths. Leading tones that seldom reach the tonic.

I am waiting for the tonic.

I can't reach the strings.