I am made from the creaking beams and rusted nails of a lonely vessel on a lonely sea. I am covered and coated, dusted with old salt water and the frail residue of moonlight.
Do broken pianos play broken songs? Do they have busted melodies for busted hearts? Is there a song living inside it that’s waiting to get out? Her keys are shattered and her notes long since silent but I can still hear her song. Just listen, just listen.
