Maybe I listen to too much depressing Icelandic electronic music. Or too much Edward Ka Spel, with his charming psychedelic slight speech impediment. It moves me, flutters my insides.
But I need those fairy voices and glitch beats, those weaving hypnotic melodies with their cryptic lyrics that send bolts of lightning down my spine. It sounds to me like the inside of my slick skull cavity.
I need it to ground me, to keep myself from floating away.
Because every time I look at him, I have to fight to be good. To be right, and to be prudent. Because my marrow and my heart pulse pounding and his chemicals all pull me to him. And he is not mine, or for me.
But still my fingers clutch and grasp, and my heart bends almost to the point of breaking.
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