she is young.

thirteen, at the least.

she feels alone. she feels as if she has

no guidance. 

no direction. 

no gentle touch to show her that it will be okay.

but she does have something, she knows.

distant melodies and crackling voices,

blasting through her earphones

deep, deep into the night. 

like an airplane, it takes her away from the helter-skelter world.

it is a gentle touch saying, "it's gonna be alright, kid."

eyes closed and heart open, they play just for her,

they envelop her and whisper secrets that only she understands. 

she listens.

it opens her arms and teaches her love,

and shows her how to understand. 

she learns.

she grasps onto every word like they're going to slip right through her fingers,

frantically pressing repeat so she won't lose them. 

she loves. 

she is older now.

graduating high school, at last. 

she feels alive. she feels as if she has

more guidance.

more direction.

many people to lend her that gentle touch to show her that it will be okay. 

but she still has what she always had, she knows.

as she looks back at where she's been,

and where she is going, 

she plugs in her earphones and closes her eyes.

some things may fade, may leave you

and force you to find replacements. 

but as she puts on a song, one from a long time ago,

she knows. 

once upon a time she was thirteen 

with no where else to go,

and she found an answer that shaped her 

changed her

into who she is. 

she listened.

she learned.

she loved.

she turns on a new song.

it's one that she's never heard before.

she listens. 

she learns. 

and as the symphony swells,

reaching the final note,

she thinks of those nights where it took her away,

where she left her dark bedroom and escaped to the music,

when the sound hugged her and made her heart swell and burst, 

how she felt the bass deep in her soul, thrumming and pounding,

how the words that were sung resonated in her mind, even to this day.

and

she loves.