It was wonderful to write this with The Melancholy Spitfire. I hope you all enjoy!
Some nights, I randomize my entire music collection. I like the surprise of never knowing which songs I’ll hear, or which memory roads they may lead me down.
A song from Grease, the musical, plays. Those Magic Changes. It’s a song I love to sing from the corners of lonely rooms.
I think of change and how it is, indeed, magic. I should know. I’m a master of illusions. I make grand, spectacular entrances, then no one notices when I
log off dart out the back door with loads of ancient secrets & experiences up my sleeves.
I leave dust bunnies behind. Trace evidence of my existence. Clues for anyone paying close enough attention.
And isn’t that just the thing, darkling?
No one’s paying any attention.
Paranoia only invents the idea that I am constantly under a magnifying glass.
The one constant change–the magic–that I can believe in…
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