Dear Grief Fairy,
I’ve met a man who encompasses grief.
Alexander Blayren, the brooding cellist.
The man I crave.
He’s rude, bold and brash, but I see what’s underneath.
A man crying out.
Surviving for the sake of his daughter. Just.
Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the lights and quietening the music.
But I didn’t agree.
When I lost my family, dance was my therapy. Movement, my recovery.
Could music be his?
Would his notes be a reprieve; the strings, his lifeline?
Or could his journey to survival begin with me?
Through the body he studies as I dance, my cries of pleasure under his fingertips, or his arousal at my willing restraint?
Grief Fairy, you understand me better than anyone. Can I relieve Alexander’s lament?
Yours,
Nat
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