Echoes

And here I sit, miffed and muddled, lost and confused by the songs in my head. With pen to paper I try to catch a note, to lay down a melody but the speed is almost never right. The words that bleed onto the page are only echoes of a thought, a dream of a dream with a hand too slow to capture it. And so here I sit, miffed and muddled, lost and confused by the songs in my head.