My symphony used to be like others.
She was happy, bright, and exciting.Â
The rhythm was fast with a stable
pitch. My symphony
had many audiences.
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My symphony used to be like others.
Many people wanted to get closer
to her, asking for more of her beauty,
so I played louder.
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My symphony used to be like others.
The whole piece reverberated,Â
captivating her mesmerized audiences.Â
Nobody interrupted and all listened.Â
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But my symphony is now different. Â
It is dull, sad, and lifeless.Â
The rhythm is slowing down.
It is everywhere like a rollercoaster ride.
Â
But my symphony is now different.Â
My symphony is a plagueÂ
that scares everyone away,
even though I already tried to play it quiet.
I don’t want my symphony to be mine.Â
Is it actually mine?
Â
But the symphony is now different.Â
Most of my audience left except two.
It can’t find its place
in the midst of thousands of critics.
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How are you? They asked.
We always say we’re fine
before our symphonies choke and falter
into the darkness.Â