The sound of plucked guitar strings
sharp but smooth
like the tang of a lemon
with just the right level of sourness
Your voice slips
through the cracks of your soul
spilling out; thin
barely seeping through
but focused
Then the plucks turn into strums
And your soul comes through
just a little more
thicker, sharper!
Then the point where I
completely collapse:
you reach a high note
but instead of progressing to falsetto
as you sometimes do,
you let it crack
And that's when
I feel like,
I see you.
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