Last Tuesday Club, Uncategorized, Writing

She sings with a voice too high for the song she’s chosen, breaking at the chorus. Instead of sounding foolish though, it sounds brave, and more sincere still than it would have done had she hit all the right notes. She holds the microphone with both hands, like a prayer, the harsh intake of her breath resonating around the small bar as she forces the lyrics out of her small body. She is not the greatest singer, nor a particularly good one, but she feels the song, and her body sways with the emotion of it, all nervous energy and deep, deep caring swept up into one unconscious action. She is beautiful on the stage, and as the song ends, she apologises, and steps down, her hands out as though steadying herself, and though I watch her, she still disappears into the crowd.

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