a violin cradled in small hands,
strings singing before words could,
a world shaped by melody and motion.
Years spun in rhythm and work,
shops, sales, and endless roads—
Boston to New York, DC to Frankfurt,
airports and hotel rooms became familiar stages.
Love came fast, bright,
then shifted like a restless wind,
leaving echoes in log homes,
cat paws on wood floors, and the smell of beech smoke.
And then, a new world opened—
Shenyang streets, a small apartment,
meals prepared with quiet care,
a rhythm of presence without planning,
a simplicity that felt like magic.
Through highs and lows,
through split wood and starlit trails,
through melodies, circuits, and city streets,
life became a composition of moments,
each note remembered, each pause necessary,
a song still unfolding.
No comments:
Post a Comment