Swaying in satin sound, the bow made love to the needy strings. Yet the player wasn’t there, only a creamy melody, soothing, yearning, teasing bitter minds, crying for all the broken hearts. I sensed a persevering loneliness; a million ephemeral stories, and a writhing passion cutting deep, wounding macho flesh, honed impassibly on to a thousand mesmerizing tones.


About Mauro Metallo

A Writer and Photographer equally at home in Italy and in Canada.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: