by Cassandra Lowe
From birth notions of Christ enthralled me and, on occasion, his spirit lent my piano the grandeur we longed for yet sometimes found unbearable. We came to depend upon my pursuit of him though he breathed beyond my feeble grasp and mortal understanding. Fleeting moments found my heartbeat almost in concert with his, and I was overjoyed and overcome by the power of his call. I feared the power of his love might blight my earthly existence and, in pursuit of a remedy, I found those who stood proxy for him. I consumed their dampening elixirs.
Now, my suffering diminished, I find steadiness in my days and modesty in my heavenly expectations. My fingers no longer inflamed with his essence, my instrument lies mute only concerned with the rote configurations of my hands. I only echo the sublime which had been once his and mine before the cursed cure.By: Cassandra Lowe