Dear Diary,

It’s Tuesday, February 2nd.

It happened again. And this time it scared me.

I remember when the dolly listened to me and bad things happened, and it wasn’t like that. They told me that wasn’t my fault, and my love for daddy made it better and Unka forgives me, and I believe them.

This is different.

This time I didn’t hear voices screaming at me. Yelling, demanding, pleading.

This time it was music.

But the word music doesn’t even begin to describe the powerful symphony of sound and color, the rhapsody in red and gold that thrummed through my body and electrified every cell within me to the tune of a billion voices joined in perfect harmony and united in the pure glory of song.

Mitch said he yelled at me to stop. To deny the song, the sound, the harmony. I don’t think he believed me when I told him I didn’t hear him.

It’s dangerous. And it hurt when when I tried to join, and failed. My meager voice is not yet ready to lift up and join the symphony—the best I can do is a simple little melody. A ditty. A tune in a bucket. But it’s all I can do for now.

But now that I’ve heard how utterly fulfilling the song can be—energizing, mesmerizing, powerful, strong, hot—I can prepare myself. Red and gold and blue.

Maybe I can share the music with others.