Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
A fleeting glimpse, a silent birdsong.
Souls too pure, they burn out too bright,
Bodies so fragile, losing the fight.
Hearts lose their beats, rhythms too slow,
Angels they come, it’s time to go.
Lift from this place, to the heavens and skies,
Smothered in peace, where nobody dies.
Hope left behind in the ones they have loved,
No longer caged, now wings of a dove.
Wings, white as snow, sprout from my heart.
Wings, spreading wide, now to depart.
Tears in my eyes, I give one last glance.
I lived, and I loved, and danced life’s sweet dance…
I was frozen to the seat. My body locked at pale pinks and lilac purples. The violet blue kept a shimmering circle with every new bar. The triangles of tempo, switching and molding into different sizes and angles.
A lump formed in my throat as her voice sailed over the coffee shop. My stomach and chest strained so tightly they ached.
My father’s face came into my head—his smiles, his applause…and the time I’d walked away…
A loud round of applause broke through my thoughts. The painting in my head faded, leaving only shadows of color as they gripped on to the darkness. I exhaled, feeling drained, like I’d been running for miles. I took a large gulp of my coffee.
The manager announced a small break. The minute the lights came on, Bonnie turned her head. It was like she had felt me sitting here. Watching.
Her face froze when her eyes met mine. She stumbled off the stage. Sam caught her, and she managed to keep hold of her guitar before it fell. Bonnie said something to Sam then rushed from the stage and out to the back.
I was on my feet in seconds, pushing through the crowd. Sam stood in my path. “No one’s allowed back there.”
I gritted my teeth, prepared to knock this guy out if he didn’t move out of my way. Then I looked out of the window and saw Bonnie crossing the street with her guitar in its case. I didn’t overthink it. I just slammed through the crowd, the lights dimming as the manager came onstage and announced the next performer.
Bonnie disappeared into the park. I rushed over the road and followed her path. She was standing under a streetlight just before the pavilion in the middle of the grass.
My foot snapped a fallen twig, and Bonnie looked up, her brown eyes huge. Her shoulders sagged. She brought her guitar over her chest as if it would protect her. Protect her from me.
“Cromwell…” Her voice was tired and strained. It was because of me, because of last night. What I did. What I’d done too many times. I didn’t like how sad I’d made her sound. “Why did you come here tonight?”
I stared at her, not saying a word. I couldn’t. Now that I was here, I couldn’t say a thing. I just kept seeing the imprint of her colors in my mind. Heard those lyrics playing on loop, stabbing me in the chest.
How did I make her understand? I froze at that thought. Because I wanted her to understand.
Bonnie sighed loudly. She turned her back to me and started walking away. My pulse fired off. She was leaving.
My mind raced, my lips opened, and I shouted, “Your bridge was weak.”
Bonnie froze mid-step. She turned to face me. I edged closer. Only a few feet. “My bridge is weak?” Her voice was husky and exhausted…exasperated.
“Yes.” I put my hands in my pockets.
“Why, Cromwell? Why was it weak?” I could see she was expecting me to shut down. To not explain myself. To run.
“Because the bridge was navy blue.” My face set on fire.
“What?” Bonnie said. I looked around me. I couldn’t believe that I’d even said those words. “Cromwell, what—?”
“The bridge was navy blue. Navy blue tells me it’s weak.” She was a statue in front of me. Her face was full of confusion. I fought the tightness in my chest and cleared my throat. “The rest was olive green and pinks…all but the bridge.” I shook my head to get the image of the navy blue from it. I tapped my temple. “It was navy blue. It didn’t fit. Navy doesn’t belong in good compositions.”
Her mouth dropped open, and the excitement I saw the night I played the piano with her next to me flared in her eyes. “Synesthesia,” she whispered, and I heard the awe in her voice. “You’re a synesthete.” She didn’t put it to me as a question. Bonnie stepped closer, and I wanted to run again. Because it was all on me this time. But I fought it. I refused to run from her again.
I blew out a breath. I’d told her. She hadn’t forced me to say it. She’d just played, somehow got beneath my walls, and the truth came pouring out.
“Cromwell…” She looked at me in a way she never had before. I realized in this moment that she’d always approached me with caution. Her face had always been somewhat closed around me.