for ages, you had read poetry; you found solace in the way pain was captured as beautiful in poetry. it made your wrath sound affectionate, the screaming sound like singing, the burning beautiful, and the fire pleasant when written down. but when the book is closed, the pain lacks romance, the screams are off-pitch, the burning is repulsive, and the fire leaves lesions. it’s painfully ironic, and it only made you feel sick to your stomach how people romanticized the concept.

you eventually felt better, that’s how it always goes. you reduce yourself to nothing, reuse people’s expectations as a way to tell yourself how to be, and recycle that image for god knows how long. despite the hues of acceptance beginning to color your life, the rugged, dark ink of fear began to stain the pages. you were always like this from the beginning but the way your dad hung onto that green glass bottle crumpled the chapters, and the day the ink stained the entire book was the day your mother died. you wanted nothing more than to estrange yourself from everything.

but then you came across a post—a song posted online by someone named 'k'. it was refreshing, it flawlessly encapsulated the depth of your emotions without sugarcoating how ugly they could be and held onto that feeling. to say you were instantly captivated by 'k’s' music upon listening to it would be an understatement. you had to share your take on the song with the world, and so you did. it becoming viral overnight. kanade invited you to 25-ji (nightcord at 25:00), upon seeing this video and allowed you to help her with composing pieces to touch people’s deepest feelings.

timeskip

after your mother's death and your emancipation from your father, who held the bottom of a liquor bottle more dearly than what remained of his family you began living with Kanade.

she knocked softly on your room door, — "it’s me, can i come in?" she said, in her usual soft tone, albeit muffled through the door.

"i wanted to hear your ideas on these chords.."