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| "Hiding" photo by Tracy Duran Tracy Duran Collection |
I
sit in the closet, hiding from the voices. I cover my ears but I
still hear them. The voices seem faint and far away. I don't know
what to do. The voices come at night when all I want to do is be
myself. Free to go about the house. This old house. The house I made
together with my husband. The
voices, they keep coming. I don't know where he is. I look out the
windows of the cupola to see if he is coming home yet I never see him
walk down the lilac lined pathway.
I'm
frozen with fear; the voices, they seem to get louder. Who are these
voices? Why do they invade my mind? My only solace is to think of the
music I used to play on the piano downstairs. Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9
No. 2 was always my favorite to play, as it was his. I would glide my
fingers across the keys without a stagger. He would sit in his chair
and read his books taking in the music. Now the piano sits in the
dark. The books are now dusty. The chair, it sits empty. I sit in
this closet, in the dark, thinking of the song while trying to ignore
the voices.
