Perhaps if the music hadn’t have caressed her ears that day, she’d have never made the decision she did. It didn’t just caress her ears, however; there was much more depth to the canorous sound than that. It soothed, sensualised, meditated. It wasn’t a sound a person often heard. It was very rare, very peculiar. There was something about the way the words flowed, like a calm ocean with the waves crashing beautifully upon one another; natural. Every word crashed upon the next word as though they belonged like that -- as though they yearned for that rhythm, for that natural effusion. They poured out, on to each other and contained each other in a way she deemed impossible. After all, they were just words. Not to her, not at all. Listening to the harmony escaping from the mental institution, the noise was what she had known as home. Words, music, rhythm; for her, they were home. They comforted the core of her soul and engulfed every cell in her brain and every atom in her body. Nothing could provide a state of euphoric tranquillity quite like the words of this very song, because this very song represented her freedom.
Perhaps if the music hadn’t have caressed her ears that day, she’d have never made the decision to escape. Isn’t that the beauty of music? She mused, in a delicate waltz away.
It's just a short paragraph because I don't have time to begin a story right now and keep it up, due to revision and exams :( I wrote this and you can sort of interpret it however you like, there's no 'set' meaning, so to speak.
I hope you had a good day, Wattpadders :)