The challenge this week is to interpret the mood and pace of a song into a story. Not the lyrics, just the sounds and feeling.
I noticed around 39 seconds it got quite deep and menacing and then toward the very end it’s quite light and dainty.
I could always feel James’ tiny dark eyes watching as the arguing started. No matter how many times I told him to go to bed, I could always feel them on the back of my neck as fists and furniture made contact with my face.
We left when James was 5. I hoped James was young enough not to remember. But when he got to highschool I knew he hadn’t forgotten. He looked at me after a hard day at school and I could see everything he’d witnessed reflected in those tiny dark eyes. His knuckles found the indent made by his father.
I was scared. I felt guilty. We should have left earlier. I should have tried harder to stop him seeing. But when I looked back into those dark eyes again the memories were blurring, distorted by tears. He never found that indent again.
James has children of his own now. When I look into their tiny shining eyes I can see their memories reflecting back at me, and I feel a huge wave of relief.There are no knuckles, no indents, just gentle soft palms and big warm arms.
freyawrightbrough 