Just a little bit of prose inspred by Mazzy Star. She's a legend.
The rain pours down.
Wet. Splashy. Noisy.
But I don’t notice. I don’t notice the cold, the fact that my hands are so numb I can barely play the guitar I clutch. The moon is bright, and casts the world into a melody of silver and black.
The water is quiet, disturbed only by the rain that breaks the surface. The water is black, cold and striking. A great willow hangs high above my head, its branches trailing the water in a great circle so I am enclosed in a cave of soft, wet leaves.
The rowing boat is soaking from the rain, the wood slippery, and I push my sopping hair off my face and begin a gentle strum. I sing above the rain. I pour my hope into the music. And I beg with the music as my weapon for my wish to come true.
The leafy canopy above whispers in harmony and I sing, with my hope, my love, my desire, my pain, and weave my heart into the song.
I dredge up magic from the darkest corners of myself and wish for it to happen. I sing for earth’s beauty, white and black beauty. Great and terrible beauty. Make it happen. Please, so that tonight...so that tonight I might see.
And I finally saw.
