Lit candle: Check

Study light on: Check

Cushion under my bum because my desk is just too damn high (or I’m too short, Pot(ay)to/Pota(a)to) : Check

Here we go, let’s study.

An hour and a half deep in my copy book trying to understand as much as I could the Statistic exercises the teacher gave us, that seem just a little too easy, I stop. There’s something I don’t understand, so I decided to go downstairs and ask my roommate, sitting in the study room.

I walk in the closed room and hear something, I can honestly say, I’ve never heard so close in my entire nineteen-year-old-lifetime-of-hearing-things before. There he was, sitting on a desk cluttered with papers and calculators and the sheer smell of stress. But he wasn’t even paying attention to the tsunami displayed on the table, instead, he was singing. By that I mean playing with his voice with such ease and force. My heart fell right into my hands, so I took it beside me and listened to him. There, I forgot my exercise questions and my exam and my worries and my happiness and my everything. I forgot my eyes because all I wanted to do was hear his voice playing in my head. His echo was the only thing surrounding us and it hugged me tightly and played with my hair. My roommate cried. My mind cried and his piercing voice slid through the bones of my rib cage. My heart, still comfortably in my hands, was beating so loud I had to silence it, for it not to interline with his rapid echo. Another girl was sitting in the room with us, she sang too, and my shriveled heart re-plunged into my hands, almost too easily, now, used to the size of my palms and the warmth of my fingers. I heard them sing tune after tune of songs I didn’t always know but was glad to be introduced to for the first time through their voices.

They finished and I left calmly with no statistics answer to my question and no remorse about it whatsoever.


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