It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way.

I always imagined music trapped inside my clarinet, not trapped inside of me. But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?

I didn't know love felt like this, like turning into brightness.

I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I'm watching it burn right to the ground.

I'm layering away: sauce, noodles, I belong to you, cheese, sauce, my heart is yours, noodles, cheese, I hear your soul in your music, cheese, cheese, CHEESE.

The first thing I notice is the sky, so full of blue and the kind of brilliant white clouds that make you ecstatic to have eyes. Nothing can go wrong under this sky.

But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?