story / song.

one foot down, touching the wooden floor, his voice began to resonate within the room. the guitar made noises that was more than just arbitrary sounds, creating a melody that was more than just ordinary music. he breaks forth a smile as he made a mistake in singing the words. those who notice, smile silently as well. a story was being told, in tunes and in notes; it swayed above the air. the symphony of one guitar and one boy's voice resounded now, beloved instrument taking over to sing louder than ever. his mind focused, his hands steadied, his eyes unwavering, and then it dies. abrupt. there is an air of unsatisfactory which lingers. the thirst lingers. the show begins.

she sings. a rhyme of unmistakable soul so tangibly present in her voice. the changing of notes in one word takes your breath away. your focus is sharp on her—you can't take your eyes off her, nor ears. 'healing resides in the mingling of hearts', said she. her voice is fierce, not wanting to let go of your spirit. she holds on to your soul, with her song.

the violinist takes her place. they began to converse. the evident exchange of looks between musicians seem to spark magic. as if chemistry is happening and the song builds up from there, bubbling like an eighth-grader's science experiment gone wrong, except it's gone right. it tastes like gold, the melody of the violin and guitar combined. he sings of the moon.

the conversation between brother and sister through songs play in our ears. as he had sung a burning song that branded your heart, she sings a song to heal, to stitch, to mend the wounds. through the notes, you feel a story. you feel like you were pushed down, and then now you're being picked up again. anger turns into silence, and pain turns into paralysis. at least we're going somewhere. at least we're... going.

(mostly written on and off during Mia and Christian Palencia's set in Merdekarya, 6th of November, 2015.)