3 songs, and a free write. Should be easy. Two come to mind right away, even three kidna, but I don’t wanna get zeroed in on just one thing. So here we go.
Song 1, Hawksong. The instant I read it, I knew how it went. To this day, I can still sing it to myself, and often do. Another fan posted a youtube video, and I’m horrified to hear it, just in case it’s “wrong”. Not because I couldn’t stand to hear the song a different way, but because what if it shatters my hawksong? I think it’s something that belongs to everyone anyways. Mine comforts me in the dark of the night when I can’t sleep, and gives me something to sing to Seth about.
In return, song 2, Seth sings to me. I wrote it first, but I’ve given it to him, to give him someone to be that is his own, instead of the half-dreamed up plaything he started life as. I have given the language to Seth, and hums for me the First Song, Prm’mn, and his voice is haunting and rich and makes me wish I could just turn back the clock for him. I wish we could remember the other verses too, but they will come back, in time. Until then, he sings for me Prim’mn, and the silly little love ditty I wrote as practice for conjugating verbs -cause that’s romantic.
And then my thoughts turn darker for song 3, like I knew they would. This song will never leave me, even though at this point I don’t even know why. We don’t talk anymore, we certainly don’t write songs together anymore, but I will never forget the words to Picture Perfect Parodies, though I’m sure you have. Did you ever know the tune? Could you ever hear my heart sing over the sound of my screaming flesh? I know it sang so loudly, with so many tunes- my whole soul vibrating to match your frequency – how could you ever hear me over your own glorious self? I wonder what songs you sing now…
I am happy for the songs I dance, the mn that thrill through me, and make my blood to pump and my heart to dance within my breast. I am grateful for the wind and the wings and the skies, for cobra blood spilled that I might live within my own head, for hawk-kin burned that I might learn how to mourn, for villages lost, their dances forgotten to time, but whispered in half-remembered song in the night. I am grateful for hawks who pace the hallways at night when they cannot sleep, watching the dreams of the little ones under her care. I am grateful for brothers who love each other more than life, who remember when the world was young and fought with itself, who remember when the skies and earth wept fire, and the chimeras were driven from the land. I weep for sons and daughters that will never be, weep for the stories you will never tell, but I am grateful for the ones you did tell, and I’ve tucked them away in a safe place in my heart so that they will never die.
Never die, my friends, only sleep.