She played the bass all night long, jamming in the moonlight spotlight; each golden star in the sky outside a die-hard fan watching through the window, lighting her up in an otherwise lightless bedroom. Her fingers worked a delicate groove upon the instrument, subconsciously choosing all the right notes, fuelling a melodic flame which burned and burned and burned and burned. She was nameless and faceless and free of desire. She played the bass all night long, growing her soul. Becoming.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.08 seconds at 3:09am on Dec 22, 2024 via server WEBX2.