Unravel.
Some tunes are in my backpack, the notes all mixed up.
I left my birds home and I know their chirps are lonely back there.
Their mates are either dead or have flown away to lonelier corners of the world.
I think of promises I've made.
In happier moments.
When evening had not set in or words had not hit me.
Or drum beats hadn't made their way into my thoughts.
My memories.
I remember crying in front of her.
It's true.
Loving is short.
Forgetting, so long.
In moments like these, I look at him in my head.
And infidelities.
I must stop this music. Now.
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