I repeat the same four lines, continuous and unbroken, with small variations. A switch in pitch. Alterations in staccato, new syllable emphasis, change in pacing. But the Iines stay the same. I think there was a time I knew the rest. When I could sing each verse with ease and grace. Loop the words with smooth tongue flickers, rolling through each letter with delicious satisfaction.
But now, I am left with just the refrain. I am stuck, a scratched record with a relentless skip. However, I am okay with it. I am fine with this…stuck-ness. The lack of progression is strangely comforting, a pleasant rut, a vocal cocoon insulating me from the unforgiving forward motion of now. To resist the pull of expectations, of fated occurrences, and inevitable defeat. In the refrain, I find no enlightenment. But I find no desolation either.
So I sing, until my song is whole again. Or at least until I am tired of singing.