[Intimate solo contralto, felt piano, subtle pulse] When I say I miss you, does it really mean I miss you? Or have I given a name to something I have never understood? Before words are spoken, there is a river — a thousand currents moving through me. I cupped a handful of water and called it longing. But what I held was never the whole river. Somewhere between the feeling and the word, something was revealed, something disappeared. And as I spoke, another current stirred — a thought I had not known until the words gave it birth. Was I speaking what I felt, or feeling what I spoke? [Descending cello, pulse fades into silence] [Sparse low cello, intimate restrained vocal] Deep within me, there is a room where words have never entered. A lonely child lies curled in its darkest corner, holding what she cannot name. She has seen the cruelty of human hands, the ugliness beneath familiar faces, the helplessness of being human. She never opened the door. She never tried to speak. Some things were too heavy to be carried into words. Years have passed. The child is still there. And so are the things she could never tell. I have words for them now — cruelty, sorrow, despair. But none can bear their weight. How can a word hold the weight of a lifetime? The words are so light. The silence is so heavy. I look into that hidden room. I see what she has seen. I feel the weight she could not name. And now I look upon humanity, not without sorrow, not without compassion. [Instruments fall silent, almost spoken] For they know not what they do. [Pause, distant second female voice, spacious pulse] Before I speak, I can already feel the void. I reach for a word, as though it were a bridge between your world and mine. [Two distinct female voices, spatially separated] We speak to cross the distance, yet speaking reveals the distance. How strange — we are made to long for one another, yet no soul can fully enter another. [Close solo contralto, gentle piano] To speak, or not to speak? I do not owe the world a word. I need no record to prove that I have been. Some thoughts may drift away, unnamed, untouched, returning to the endless stream. [Cinematic build, swelling strings and female harmonies] But sometimes, life overflows. Something stirs within me, something asks to be born. I gather what the river brings, and give it a form, a voice, a moment in the world. I choose to give it birth. [Music recedes, harmonies dissolve] And when it is delivered, I let it go. I let it be. [Clear solo female voice, minimal accompaniment] It has its own feet. It will walk its own path. [Soft piano and cello outro]
