Post by SAMANTHA IRIS CASSIDY on Oct 8, 2012 3:16:03 GMT -5
Samantha huddled up into her black over shirt, and shivered. It was a chilly day in Rhode Island. Why in the world she chose to come here was beyond her. Her guitar was draped over her back secure in it's case and she was looking around for the perfect place to play. Of course the beach looked deserted. Often time, this was her audience -- nobody. With the sun beating down on her, she smiled and set the case down on the ground, unbuckling the straps and lifting her treasure carefully into her hands. She'd sit on the soft gritty ground composed of sand and strummed a few notes, tuning her instrument. People often told Sam that her guitar seemed to be, in her eyes, her best friend. Well of course. It was given to her by her father...the one piece of him she could hold on to.
The notes lifted into the air like they were on wings, and she smiled. It didn't bother her to not have people around, so much. She was fairly independent due to the fact that she moved around like it could be a full time job for her. Music was her weapon, her coping mechanism. Some people had sex to deal with things, some smoked, some drank -- she played music. That was normal, in her mind. Sighing once more, she played a few notes, counting in her head. She was trying so hard ot put her feelings into song, but it was failing right now. Why was it so hard to just say how she felt? She was good at helping others -- but who was there to help her? To tell her it was okay. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she quickly dismissed them, and went back to playing a song more familiar to her, escaping.
The notes lifted into the air like they were on wings, and she smiled. It didn't bother her to not have people around, so much. She was fairly independent due to the fact that she moved around like it could be a full time job for her. Music was her weapon, her coping mechanism. Some people had sex to deal with things, some smoked, some drank -- she played music. That was normal, in her mind. Sighing once more, she played a few notes, counting in her head. She was trying so hard ot put her feelings into song, but it was failing right now. Why was it so hard to just say how she felt? She was good at helping others -- but who was there to help her? To tell her it was okay. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she quickly dismissed them, and went back to playing a song more familiar to her, escaping.