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She paused, eager to learn from her mothers masterful control of… essay example
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She paused, eager to learn from her mothers masterful control of…

The pigeons outnumbered the dark grey paving slabs. Aliyah sat near a triangular pool in the inner area of the plaza, enjoying the mist of the recycled water that emerged from the lips of the busty stone mermaid. However it seemed so out of place compared to the constant buzzing of car horns & the city traffic.

Eliyah knew her mother detested her from leaving the house. Her fingers fumbled over a crinkled letter shed been composing for the past few days. Countless folds and creases decorated the pale cream sheet. Her sprawled scribbles reflected her frustrated deliberation.
You don’t realise. Music was a part of my life, my old life.
You need to accept that it isn’t who I am anymore.
I want to explore other roads. I have to.

When she had first arrived, her matching white knit and mitts, hand made by her mother, had set her apart from the stark monochromatic backdrop. Her unique attire hadn’t been rewarded with employment. Checking her watch, she folded up the letter into her purse, and moved towards the city lights on the corner, the click of her lack heeled shoes drowned by a discordant symphony of carn horns. Eliyah felt pulled along by the dark grey current of black suits and blunt office skirts, until she was forced to an abrupt stop.

Like a pillar of sunlight in the dark attic, a haunting strain cut through the dirge of the urban soundscape. Familiar chords and scales lifted from the delicate picking of steel strings, carried on the smog filled air.
There he stood. Still, amongst the swarm of buzzing bees and cars. The old worn guitar case sat in front of his feet, with a mere couple of dollars resting inside. His fingers flowed over the strings, articulately plucking each to create the most melodious sound, like plucking budding flowers to create a delicate scent. His fingers were those of a true guitarist – worn, dirty, and a permanent indentation from the steel strings.
Just like Eliyah’s.

The gentle refrain of the guitar spoke a musical language that she understood fluently. She leant in to every accent and perfect fifth. Instinctively, the music began tracing itself in her mind. The decrescendo transitioning the harmonic melody. Her pale cream skin was the sheet music, with each black crochet and quaver imprinting and tracing itself. For so long, she realised how much she yearned that strumming sound and the soothing qualities that made her feel at ease. The hands skilfully descended from each fret of the neck, like a journey into a new world.
It was just her, and the friend, whose music soared, taking it with it her and only her. The city was consumed and captivated, it relished and devoured the melodious sound that had stifled her, flowing through her arteries like pure crystal water flooding in a river.

Sharps complimented flats and a harmonic sound lifted from the guitar. Her lack of experience was evident as her fingers fumbled over the appreigo of sound, yet did not detract her from the ambience as her mother dominated the song with every beautiful strum and tune.

She paused, eager to learn from her mothers masterful control of her grandfathers cherished guitar. Dents decorated the guitar body, echoes of rugged journeys made from suburbs to suburbs.
In haste to escape the simple life she had lived. Eliyah had grabbed all the essentials. There were other extra things she knew she weren’t necessities however she couldn’t bring herself to leaving them behind. Packed securely in the box, she layered thick sticky tape, so certain that this part of her life held no values in the hustling city that had awaited her.
The room was dull and empty, all but for the sheet music that was littered across the sparse carpet, like white, bodiless wings with the emptied cardboard that had contained them. Eliyah instantly imaged her mother there, sitting amongst the sheet decorated with the musical language, legs crossed, guitar nestled in her lap and the 3 lines that decorated her forehead as she focused on her talent.
Eliyah lust was evident as she relished the way her mother would completely lose herself in the emotion of the moment. The deep furrow between her eyebrows would constantly appear. An dark cut of hair would wave over her tense face, as she shook in rhythm to the song.

“Mum do you think Ill ever be as good as you” Eliyah asked as they folded the sheets of music into the folders.
“Eliyah, absolutely. It runs in your blood” she said smiling.
She pressed a chipped yellow pick into Eliyah hand and gestured with a nodding head. Its all yours.

The night fog pressed its curious face against the single, tiny window in her cold frosty apartment. She grabbed a note pad and began drawing four lines parallel above each other. Slowly the crochets and quavers appeared like the filtered rays of dawn sunlight. Gradually a song began to take shape. Her worn and out tired hands rested on her pocket, feeling the letter that was once heavy and burdened with frustration. She crumpled it up, folding it and chucked it in the bin and with it her previous certainty that music and her mother were in the past, and she was way ahead of present and future. ‘Her hands grappled with the bottom of her sticky taped box, searching for the yellow teardrop. She had forgotten how comfortably it sat between her fingertips, a part of her that she could no longer conceal.
Thepifeons outnumberfed the dark grey paving slabs. Alliyah sat near a triangukar pool in the plaza, enjoying the mist of the recycled water that emerged from the busty stone memrmaid. It seemed so out of place compared to the costant buzzing of car horns and city traffic.

Aaliyah knew her mother detested her from leaving the house. Her fingers fubled over the crinkled aper shed been trying to compose for the past few days. Folds and coutless creases decorated the pale cream white papoers. Her sparaled scribble reflected her frustrayed delobertaion.

You don’t understand me
Music was a singifact psrt of my and my life but it isn’t anymore
I want to explore other pathways
I have to

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When she had first arrive her matching mitts and knits, gand made by her mother, has strt apart from the start mvconahrmitrc backdrop. Her unique attire hadn’t been rewarded woth employment. Vhecking her watcg she folded the paperd into her pure and moved twosrds the cityt loghts. Her blaked helled show drowned by a discornd sysmphony of car horns. She felt pulled along by the dark grey current of black suits and blunt office skirts until she was forced to an abrupt stop.

Like a pillar of sunlight in a dark attic, a haunting stain cut through the dirge of the urband soundcape. Familai scales and chrods lifte from the delicate icking of steelstr9ngs, carried on the msog filled air.
There her stood. Sgtill amngt the saerm of people and cars

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