Our room is tangled with light. Orange and yellow threads of gold twist and intertwine, and I run my fingers through them as if they were your hair, catching on knots and worries that you wake up with every day. I will do my best to free them, to allow the strings to vibrate and sing their melodies, but I hope you’ll be patient with me. It’s much harder to untie the knots than it is to cut through them all at once, and that’s all that I’ve been taught to do outside of your arms. But the chance to hear your song is worth the time, my love.