As the rhythm crawls inside my head, weaving smoky tendrils around thoughts forgotten and words unspoken, my body writhes restlessly underneath my skin, my breath catches inside my mouth, my heart grows in my chest, hammering helplessly against my ribcage, spiraling with the sound, trying to fill me... only to shatter on the highest note of the violin, sweet and sharp and crystalline.

Now, slivers of it are scattered everywhere, embedded in my flesh; in my eyes, on my lips, between my shoulder blades, in the palms of my hands, at the small of my back, in the soles of my feet.I only have to find every tiny shard, gather them to my breast, glue them all together with hopes and dreams, to mend what's come undone, and pretend it isn't slightly misshapen, somewhat hollow and more easily broken, pretend it's still my heart, just as before...