Milla

I lowered the lights, and my voice, and my eyelids. And I let Milla in. With her weathered guitar, her intricate jewellery and the hidden strength in her eyes. I play D and E, she plays E and A. I look down at the floor, she's already somewhere else. In her song, a few notes brush past me. A bird freed from the turmoil of its soul. Then everything falls into place, the sounds of the city and the mysteries of the world. When I grow up, I'll be like Milla, lucid and clumsy. Faithful to something that still eludes her.