Hey guys, this is my first draft and I was hoping some of you could proofread it. I'm not really happy with the last sentences I think it could be less cheesey, but still conveys what I realized. The prompt was what work of art, music, science, mathematics, or literature has surprised, unsettled, or challenged you, and in what way?
Thanks!
Click. My friend had recommended another one of her favorite songs through chat, "Islands" by Young the Giant. Silence. I almost exited when I heard the soft, ambient bass of a guitar. "Ugh," I thought, "Not another slow, gloomy song." I closed the link.
Two years later, I heard the familiar riff on the radio. I exceeded the skip limit and had to listen. A voice as smooth as the round, slate-gray stones carried by countless ocean waves, began to croon. A single chord accented Sameer's voice. His voice brimmed with a regret that seeped into my soul.
"The way you move, a foreign groove, at night," he purred. I felt his careful emphasis on "foreign", the way his voice sloped downwards then abruptly ascended on the last syllable. "I could never hold you," he sang as his voice crescendoed. Sameer's rubato bled through my heart. A subdued drum began its steady beat. The strumming of guitars creeped in; the melancholic cello threaded in its accompaniment. Sameer finished with "Have you missed my warmth? On your island?" His ballad rang of unrequited love.
I always picture a girl, at the edge of a cliff with her hair billowing, casting aside her pearls and looking back into emptiness. Her eyes are vacant yet sorrowful. In her seclusion, she took no risks.
Every time I listen to "Islands" I discover something new. While I value solitude, I realize that I cannot isolate myself. I have to expose myself to a new world.
Thanks!
Click. My friend had recommended another one of her favorite songs through chat, "Islands" by Young the Giant. Silence. I almost exited when I heard the soft, ambient bass of a guitar. "Ugh," I thought, "Not another slow, gloomy song." I closed the link.
Two years later, I heard the familiar riff on the radio. I exceeded the skip limit and had to listen. A voice as smooth as the round, slate-gray stones carried by countless ocean waves, began to croon. A single chord accented Sameer's voice. His voice brimmed with a regret that seeped into my soul.
"The way you move, a foreign groove, at night," he purred. I felt his careful emphasis on "foreign", the way his voice sloped downwards then abruptly ascended on the last syllable. "I could never hold you," he sang as his voice crescendoed. Sameer's rubato bled through my heart. A subdued drum began its steady beat. The strumming of guitars creeped in; the melancholic cello threaded in its accompaniment. Sameer finished with "Have you missed my warmth? On your island?" His ballad rang of unrequited love.
I always picture a girl, at the edge of a cliff with her hair billowing, casting aside her pearls and looking back into emptiness. Her eyes are vacant yet sorrowful. In her seclusion, she took no risks.
Every time I listen to "Islands" I discover something new. While I value solitude, I realize that I cannot isolate myself. I have to expose myself to a new world.
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