the tenth octave

i gather the fractured sunlight, savouring the feel of it pooling in my palms, a glistening ambrosia nestling its weight, safe and sound. i wish not to forget, but alas, the 12th chime rings; they tug on my heart and in its fervent rush, i am stolen away once again. i wish to keep my heart where it belongs, for the sun to ever rain on my lonely parade, to see it upon my horizon once more, the taste of its sweetness upon my tongue and on my vulnerable breast; but i can only package all my regret and grief into a shimmering glass slipper, a left behind memoir of that rising octave my life's melody has to undertake - a forced change from minor to major - where i have no time to breathe, to let go what i was holding in, as i rush breathlessly into the future, pulling along by the strings of change, where meaning returns to what it should be, and where i am unsure if i belong.