spring

In the spring I like to walk outside through the avenues lined with cherry blossoms. Sunglasses shield my sight from the brightness, but also mute the colors of the blossoms. Magenta becomes pale pink. Pink transforms into white. I hear voices, faded and incomprehensible, I see children running to and fro. But I cannot hear them, for in my head is a personal soundtrack of wonderful melodies that has increased in intensity. I glance around me at the silence, at the energy, but only hear the crescendos of my heart.