It's not even that I don't know what to say, I just don't know how to say it. That's what I love so much about Orchestra class, the unspoken, misunderstood words can flow from my soul and out into the air, beautiful for people to hear. Or terrible, and out of tune, and broken. Your soul, your heart, makes the music.
We are the nervous glances and awkward pauses, the pokes just to touch each other, the crinkled smile in the hallway. We are the sneaked-kisses-in-the-back room and the warm smell of skin when it's beginning to flush red. We are the pieces of a broken memory, and the careful piecing back together. We are the klutzy and the messy, the tripping-over-our words and the shy glances when we sit next to each other, barely touching (But the electricity is furious). We reach out in darkness and hold on tight, for the safety net we cherish is each other. We have holes, cracks, tears- But we try, we fix, we break. We are human. We hope, we love, we forgive, we trust.
I have hope, not because I need it, but because I found it.