This must be the third time that I am listening to the same song. A repetitive melody manifests a system which helps to shut everything out.
It is a blissfully rainy Sunday morning. A morning when I learn what speech means, what it is on the page.
My living room plunged into darkness, the brightness of the screen turned down; this way I may not be able to see the grey in its ideal light… but who needs light.
Today it is a woman with a small briefcase ringing the music teacher’s door bell and she quickly disappears into the house with the red post box built into the walls opposite.
Is this what they want: harmony.
