Dulce worked hard at composing and he was astute enough to listen when his creativity spoke to him like an angel in love. A partial understanding of his creativity did exist but he was afraid to profane his understanding with more than the briefest explanations. He knew sensations were bawdy tricks. Even his ears seemed part of the baser makeup of his physical body. Real music came through an organ other than ears. Real music came through an echo chamber in the psyche that remembered the conservatory of creation. Hearing music in the third dimension was looking in the mirror. It merely was a reflection of the real.
From Alone: Book I of the Janaforma Trilogy
Martha Fawcett copyright 2011