margot_dent

He shook her by her smooth, red shoulders violently and demanded she hear him. She could not. "The sound," he cried, "the sound is not the only thing. I am here, there are others here!" And though she stared at this brow and saw his angry breath move her hair, she could not hear him. She was deaf to anything with absence of melody and tune. She could not feel his trembling hands and his tears on her arms, she could feel only the vibration of bass and the ringing of treble. This numbness to all things nonmusical would keep her alone forever, but the comfort she felt in the songs she loved kept her blissfully unaware of her isolation. There were times, though, when the record would skip or the tape would turn over, that she felt silence run like a piece of ice up and down her spine, but the next track began soon enough to dismiss such an occurrence.