Margo dwells in the realm of dreams. She collects and tells stories. She collects daisies and tears their petals off. She taught me how to turn her stories into music. Her stories gave meaning to my music and my music gave life to her stories. “Share our stories”, she kept urging me. But every time I would shy away: « I am not ready».
I watched her slowly disappearing into the horizon, fading away, little by little, upon each of my misgivings. Ι never stopped her... I would just stand there staring at her, listening to her familiar whisper: “Loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not”. Keep staring at her. Until I couldn’t see her anymore. Until her whisper ceased.
She was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found. She’d only left a story on the piano, a story I’d never seen before, a story with no title, with no ending. Next to it, were a daisy and a note: "I need you to love me so I can exist.” It was for me to decide whether she would come to life or be vanished.
So I took her words and turned them into lyrics, her story into music and songs. And I completed it.
Now I sing her story looking for her, hoping that someday, somewhere, she might listen to it and be happy with its ending and happy to see me sharing it; hoping that one day the music and my singing will bring her back to me…