Sometimes I like to imagine

that as an embryo

 I composed sweet symphonies to the ever changing bpm of my mother’s heart.

I dreaded her sadness.

I dreaded the slow fading tempos of my classical compositions.

I dreaded my escape.

As I stared into the curiosity of my father’s eyes

I realized I lost the protection I had gotten to know so well.

Sometimes I still look for it

As I try to remember those songs in front of my piano.