String Quintet No. 5 in E major, Op. 11 (LMS VII)

Welcome! Comments welcome, but please spoiler them! Instead of a firm outline, I am letting this lead me where it wants to go. I have ideas and feelings, not sure how they will be expressed yet, though. Graphics and pretty things coming soon!!

Vibe:
-Where do I want to be? (physically)
-What thoughts feel meaningful to think right now?
-What is the difference between now and later?
-What does it mean to choose happiness?
-When will I feel 'found' or 'seen'?
-How far will I go to find what I am looking for (even though I know I will never find it)?
-Do I want to focus on now or later?

waiting to be found,
feels like growing up all over again.
wishing to be followed, wishing to be needed,
i am the only one who will ever be good enough for me.

i built too many titles for myself,
once protection, now the curse that prevents me from
seeing the edges of your soul.
i cannot cry for my mind, only my body.

i consume the physical world to distract myself
from consciousness, my comfort, my poison, my regret,
my dread for moving on and becoming everything
and leaving this dream.

i wait to be found,
i wait to play a beautiful song,
my fingers ache, i lose my grip, i let go of your hand;

jumping into water, determined to learn how to swim,
buying clothes that have already ripped, nowhere near your size,
getting comfortable with drowning,
a molded candle that will still melt,
you stop the song before the final note, which completes it all,
gun drawn, but too afraid to shoot, an eternal standstill,
as my lungs expand, my consciousness grows, that second of heaven is all i have.
i have always had nothing, but this is the first time i have something
that refused to be lost.
i cradle it in my hands, although it is invisible.
a second becomes eternity when i play a new song,
believing i could be the best at something,
i could be beautiful while drowning, using my suffering for something
that will never die.
i can hold heaven in my hands when i do something gorgeous.

suddenly, nothing is broken, only created and only beautiful.
tears still fall to a melody, even when i am not thinking of my soul.
everything is distraction, except for creating purpose,
through an endless quest to play every note perfectly in tune,
so that i can know if this is a song that needs to be played.
did i choose this planet, knowing that i would feel like i belonged somewhere else?
did i choose this place, knowing that loss would break me,
but even being with you for a short amount of time was enough for me to agree?
suddenly, notjing is broken, only beautifully crafted suffering.

It hurts to stay, but not enough to leave.
I walk a short distance away, to drown on my own,
but once i breathe in a mouthful of air,
i feel terror that i have only felt once before.
my eyes were open, i was gasping for air,
but not trying to swim, because
i am drowning, but i cannot die as long as you are there.
waiting for my Savior, my lover, my fantasy,
i am a missing piece of the human puzzle,
no matter how well you know me, i will never admit that you know me,
i want to be rescued, but i need to be unique,
a paradox in my own mind, ashamed of wanting to find you,
while buried in deep waters.

they say the answer is realizing that the missing piece
is me, already existing and already enough,
but how does that clear the waters and clear my damaged lungs?
it is possible to find perfection, an enabling Saviour,
who i will love for a short time, until i need something new, again.

I attempted to play it for the first time today,
too slow to be beautiful, even if I do the right thing.
I've seen my progress with my own eyes,
I practice the same, but now it is with passion.
the calluses on my fingers remind me of
my skin that healed too well,
a little bit too much of everything to be worth anything,
to do anything without being judges first,
to be anything that somebody wants, someday.
I had a moment earlier, a realization that felt like peace.
the thought that everything exists and everything lasts,
that I could be enough and that my story is written somewhere,
that I could heal something that is broken,
and that it matters.
I want to play and have it matter, I want to exist in sound,
the purest form of all our speech, thoughts, substance, qualities,
I will subsist, I will sing, I will cry through the music.