Practice


Practice

winds are changing, leaves dance with the symphony in your head.
I’ve heard the crescendo before, It froze us both in our tracks.
Paralyzed, we grew apart.
Clashing schedules, clashing ideas, clashing minds.
We are two too headstrong boys, unready.
Unsteady.
I was left in silence, your orchestra no longer wraps me up.
You were left without a conductor, a runaway train, clanging along.
The world is still spinning, nothing is significant to everyone.
As cliche as it may seem, nothing can be truly perfect.
Behind every “perfect” performance is hours of practice.
We had no practice.

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