There’s a frightening absence,
it hits you on the thirteenth hour
when you realize your shyness
has slowly become a virus
and there’s no antidote,
the only tranquilizer is the fire
in your heart that burns away
the hours of each day
until you’re left in the quietness
of a solitude more persistent
than the cycle of the sun and moon,
kept alive only by the music
mirroring your emotion or lack thereof
with precision so flawless you begin
to wonder if what you really are
is the soothing sound of harmony
or the silence that follows.

dedicated to Miguel Aristondo

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