You've been teased for far too long.

The ever growing struggle to find warmth within your gentle harmony. Those constant infinite moments seeming to exceed the very horizon you're chasing. A perch to sit upon, your eagle-eyed gaze becomes stagnant. The dull black reaches of the night commit the spaces to memory. The faintest slivers of moonlight illuminate your immediate surroundings, but by the time the trees and stones and concrete jungles have devoured its glow, there isn't enough left to feed your hunger for optical brilliance.

Creatures of the night. You've always felt among them; akin to their presence and their essence, but somehow apart from their purpose. Birds that prey, hounds that stray, and the broken victims who stay. Their calls echo far into the well beyond. This is a world of hunters, and your but a traveler within it. They live for these endings, you're simply waiting for your beginning.

Strum your strings and play along.

You are the instrument. The wood and plastic and fibers you hold simply allow your soul to reverberate through space and time. It's nothing but a tool, one you know how to use. One down strike, two swings up, within the usual pick and pluck. You're not creating sound, you're letting the tone live, like awakening it from its slumbering dream. Nothing is formed or felled, only rearranged within simply understood resonance.

You conjure the pitch deep within your throat. Its a lonesome, weary sound. It's the audible realization of your life, taught through pain, told through sorrow. Yet the sudden shake ending your sound provides the heeder with the smallest glimmer of hope, for no sadness is absolute, no immense suffering comes without the dreams of a one day joy.

Light your life to sing your song.

There it is. Here it comes. There is something in the way it moves. It does attract me like a lover. The night was long, and cold, and lonely, and yet now I'm alright. I never want to leave it. I believe in it. I believe it it's smiles, its styles, and the miles of ice its clearing. I don't need no other.

But please, don't ask me grow, or show, or go beyond the years it's been.

I don't know, but I plan on sticking around.

For there's something in that sun.