On my nightstand, there is a beautiful music box Ballerina
She is stunning, passionate and young, her name is Catherina

Catherina used to dance in circles without ceasing
to the same note, her only purpose was people-pleasing

Whenever someone would open the box and wind it up on repeat
she continued dancing, on demand, ignoring the pain in her feet

Nobody cared how she felt, as long as she kept turning
like a clock, that never stops, she felt her passion burning

The older she turned, the more pain she had to go through
she couldn’t escape ‘cs she was tied to a strong *****

the music started to sound uncanny
she wished she didn’t have to see

So she made her tears red, voluntarily
to escape into her own imaginary

There is music that will play on,
when we are gone.

When we have slept,
And when we have weapt,
moving away
to a another day.

The music will still play
on for it's own
And for no one,

As when we are gone,
The stars won't be done,
They blink
They shine like a golden ink,

They will never leave,
They'll dance,
And we'll greave
And leave.

Just as we have always done,
And they will never do.

Sometimes it's the irony,
Of a garage band,
Full of classical instruments.

Such beautiful music,
Played in such an informal way.

But you'll still replay the tape,
Whether or not you like rock,
Because your lover,
Is first chair violin.

We never had a song—
no chorus to hum,
no melody stitched
into the seams of us.

And maybe we didn’t need one.
Maybe the silence was enough.
But you love music.
And I love music.

So how did we not have a song,
if the love was real?
When we were dancing
were we pretending to feel?

cold summer recalls winter warmth,
candles every memory that was,
illuminates every memory to be.

as late as Romanian trains,
Happy New Year's Eve flew,
fallen, self-invited DraconiaN, figures.

as early as human traces,
sad old life's dawn landed,
risen, welcomed serenian, reflections.

as eternal as love echoes,
statornic now, time friends stop,
most dead feel life most.

I hate how you ruined song after song.
It’s not fair that you have that power so strong.
Music is the only thing that makes me belong.
Taking that away is just plain wrong.

It may be cute but hear it from my view,
Getting a song captioned, “this reminded me of you.”
Makes the song stick to you like glue.
So after you hurt me I can’t stand it and take it off queue

I’m new to ‘self-directed study,’ it’s a construction I’ve never known. It’s kind of a faustian bargain that resembles another self-paced activity—treading water. The program’s like an immersive plunge in deep, choppy, informational seas.

On the other hand, instead of dark, crowded auditorium classes, we’ve been studying, on sunny mornings, out by the pool, where there’s a summer-camp-like vibe.

When I say 'we', I mean Chella and I, we’re a two-girl study group. I’ve only known her for 13 days but we have a lot in recent-common. She was in my Yale graduation class (last month) but our paths never really crossed at Yale.

She’s a tall, lithesome, black girl from Miami Florida. Not the sandy beach Miami, where palm trees sway, bikini clad models strut and flamingo-pink art-deco bars face the ocean. No, she’s from the Liberty City ghetto—and she has stories.

She say’s that getting her Yale acceptance was a sea change. People were incredulous, as if aliens had landed or everyone in her high school had won the lottery, There’s a sad but steely resignation in her voice when she says she’s never going back there, "Evah."

So, it’s 86°f here in Boston, MA, and we’re out studying by the pool. There isn’t a cloud or bird in the sky and the sun looks—well, honestly, we’re not looking at the sun—we’re college graduates—we’re in the shade. I was afraid the pool would be summer-time crowded but we’ve been the only one’s here all week. We plunge into the pool and then read.

As Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks finished playing on my Bose Soundbar, Chella professed, “I literally LOVE that song.”
“I’ve loved that song since 8th grade,” I agreed.
“I don’t think my musical taste will ever be better than it was in 8th grade.” Chella confided.
“8th grade’s when everyone’s up on trends,” I said, thinking back.

We read for a while. The only thing tainting our near resort-core experience, is the flood of material we must cover.

“I want to be jolly,”  I declared to the universe,“I’m holding that today.”
“You keep yourself so grounded,” Chella said, “like you refuse to delight in anything!”
“That’s not true!” I gasped.
“Yes, it is!,“ she updogged, if anything goes wrong, you’re just done.”
“NOoo!” I laughed. “Ok, two things, if two things go wrong,” she amended.
“That’s fair.” I admitted, “I’m a two chance girl.”  
“That’s fair,” she agreed, then she added, “I’m going to switch the vibe up.”
‘SIREN by Shygirl’ began banging as we went back to our reading.
‘Self directed study’ has it’s advantages.
.
.
Songs for this:
Count Contessa by Azealia Banks & Lone
Blue Coupe by Twin Peaks
SIREN by Shygirl