Passion

Days turned into nights as

I sat in that room

Minutes to hours as

I turned over the pages

But hours into mere seconds as

I turned small black dots into sweet sound

Into fear

Into love

Into happiness

Passion.

Passion flowed out of those keys and

Into that stuffy, pain-filled air

The passion made that air clear.

It was clarity

It was serenity

It was peace

Communication yet

No words were exchanged

Silent voices yet

Every emotion

expressed.

Shared.

Spoken.

Passion.

But then

Gone were the days of

Passion.

Those hours turn into days as

The harsh sounds cannot remove that

Pain-filled air.

What is a world without

Passion.

Empty.

Empty hearts.

Empty minds.

Empty souls.

All emotions felt but

None are expressed

Pain stuffs the air and

Suddenly

You can no longer breathe

It consumes you.

It ignites you.

You burn the very things that made you whole.

Small black dots on a page of thin lines

Small black dots turn into empty sound that drips out of those cold keys

Words remain unspoken

Emotion remains unexpressed

Gone are the days of

Passion.

So missed are the days of

Passion.