Title: Optional

Text: Sometimes, in moments of onset despair, I would lace both of my arms across my waist and anchor my hands upon my hip bones. I would do this to fake a sense of comfort. I'd stand utterly silent, lull my head, and listen. I'd linger for the subtle thump within the caverns of my stature. A melody only I could speak with. It was mine. A stroke only I could identify. It was mine but gifted from another. I'd listen because the rattle would shake the clamor of the outside world off. Jeder Absatz wird ein Test sein.

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