She’s prettier than it seems but to those who comprehend. She’s prettier than you think if you just look at her skin. She’s prettier than you can imagine if you just think of her looks.

You see she’s like an instrument which you cannot force to sing. She’s not the drum like you who falsetto if someone stings. She’s more like a cello if you look closely. She’s the sound of happiness and the idol of melancholy. She’s misunderstood beyond compare and it’s just because not everyone knows how her to play.

I don’t play her, I really don’t. I just guide the bow softly and just touch the notes. I don’t force her to speak or whisper or scream. I just hold her as on me she leans. I embrace her close and hold her right and we unite and form music bright.

I know you barely understand what I say. You look at her and see an overgrown voila. I look at her and see an instrument rare.

But don’t you worry it’s not your fault. She will seem to you gibberish if you read music wrong. Like Japanese script to an Englishman. Or sheet music to layman.


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