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My fiddle is made of crystal and light sparks from its strings.

The green railing was cold to the touch in the darkness. College students passed in and out of the heavy door and drafty stairwell. And I stood just close enough to the lamplight to feel safe.

The tune echoes and re-echoes, twisting me up in my soul.

He said he missed me, and I believed him, out there in the dark, the phone held to my ear. I don’t even know why I’d opened his text.

It was eerily beautiful, and wretched, both at the same time.

“You’re my lifeline,” were his words, along with several other choice pieces. He sure knew how to lure me in.

The music messed with my fingers and my mind, playing his tune.

He left my seashells down on the beach, broken by the time he reached them. I took pictures while he danced with our other gal friend.

I know these patterns inside and out. I scratch out the end of the sheet. No repeats.

I am filled with light and a night creature hovers near. “Hi, Arielle.” I don’t answer. “Hell, no,” I mouth to myself. And that ends that.

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