Her Sanctuary

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Running up the stairs, still bellowing at her parents, she ran into her room and slammed the door shut, muttering noisome words under her breath. She was in a pandemonium and felt dispirited, appalled by her parents’ attitude toward her love for music; she had confessed to them that she wanted a vocation as a musician, but they opposed on the idea. She grabbed her guitar, and started playing with tears streaming down her pink cheeks; She closed her eyes and played fervidly, only audible enough for her own ears to hear. Her fingers moved with alacrity across the fingerboard and she strummed the strings impetuously, so that the sound of the music flowed out mellifluously. She cleared her mind of all thoughts and let her poignant agonies be carried away by the melancholy songs played on her guitar. Her room was her sanctuary and playing her guitar allowed her to placate herself, retracting herself from a maelstrom.





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