twenty-three.
twenty-three.
one hundred and fifty two words.
sing like the world can hear you (I hear you, I hear you)
There's always something distinctively wrong about lipsyncing. Tiffany always blinks, breathes, and thinks, "My dream was to sing-" and her soul always cries out that it was never her dream to open her mouth and let nothing flow out. It hits her as the stage lights brighten, as the background music cues, as the camera begins to roll across the stage- she finds herself singing, un-connected wires behind the curtains of the stage keeping the sound of her voice, of her soul, to themselves as she smiles and disregards everything (the, "you were off tune last perfomance; it's not yet perfect, so practice more at home-"; the, "you're over-exerting yourself-"; the, "I can barely hear you speak anymore-"; the, "Tiff, please-"). Because Tiffany has never wanted to do anything but to sing and be heard (even if no one but her bandmates and nothing but her own beating heart can hear her).
one hundred and fifty two words.
sing like the world can hear you (I hear you, I hear you)
There's always something distinctively wrong about lipsyncing. Tiffany always blinks, breathes, and thinks, "My dream was to sing-" and her soul always cries out that it was never her dream to open her mouth and let nothing flow out. It hits her as the stage lights brighten, as the background music cues, as the camera begins to roll across the stage- she finds herself singing, un-connected wires behind the curtains of the stage keeping the sound of her voice, of her soul, to themselves as she smiles and disregards everything (the, "you were off tune last perfomance; it's not yet perfect, so practice more at home-"; the, "you're over-exerting yourself-"; the, "I can barely hear you speak anymore-"; the, "Tiff, please-"). Because Tiffany has never wanted to do anything but to sing and be heard (even if no one but her bandmates and nothing but her own beating heart can hear her).