On Cellos and Loneliness

There's something about watching talented cellists play that is so intimate and sexy.  Oh, how they cradle their instrument so carefully, coaxing such rich, smoky, throbbing and attenuated notes from it.  Their fingers jump effortlessly, slowing, alighting and gracefully trembling, their heads bowed over the instrument's slender neck, as close as a kiss, a promise of a kiss.

Maybe I'm just lonely as hell.

On My Own

Someday I will have a place of my own.  A quiet place in the countryside, forest nearby, only the sounds of breezes in grasses.  My own little garden, a haven.  I want it so bad that my throat aches and tears come to my eyes.  I look around at my little studio apartment, my one single pot, my poor, dying Jesper cat; I have the bare essentials for survival.  I'm fine with that, but...  I need nature.  Need.

Now that I'm on my own...  I will have to wait awhile for this dream to come to pass.