On the walls are framed pictures of your experience.
Each face is familiar in meaning,
Strange in feature;
Each scene untouched by my eyes
But ringing in my memory.
Across time, thought, and distance,
Your music plays in my head.

Every chord is so real and perfect,
It is as if you are singing in my room,
Right in front of me.
And though I cannot claim I am a true musician,
I create your songs again in my heart
Every time I hear them.
You and your music are twin journeys.

I'm in your shoes and I've slipped into your life.
My thoughts are mine but my face is yours,
And those in your life greet me as you.
I know them all and can speak with your lips.
My own voice adds harmony to the chorus of your songs,
Not creating but complementing.

I do not wish to be you.

But when I listen to you play . . .

I live your life effortlessly.

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