It's raining. It's cool outside. No birds twittering nor a soul up on the road treading as the living. Am sitting alone in a dark room romancing to the notes of the exotic Vivaldi Variation arranged in G minor by Florian Christl in piano.
I am still waiting for him. Does he even realise that?
The music reminds me of his eyes, his ears and his neck. The notes reminds me of his lips and the chords ignite within me the passion with which I want to collide with that soul.
Will he realise that it's him that my heart belongs?
Does he feel the same?
Can the chords pull a few strings of his heart as well? Does he perceive music?
Does he love music?
Is he too dancing somewhere listening to Vivaldi and swinging as he imagines me in his arms?
Or is he restricted and is not permitted to invade the most beautiful verses of imagination?
Is he still strangling himself to the worldly ties and not surrendering his life to the epitome of love- music?
Aren't the musical notes sufficient to subside his pain, to provide him fresh air, to bring him close to me, so that I may take a look at his scars and everything that haunts him?
Isn't that how two people who are in love with music be?
Isn't that how the two souls intertwine as they witness the union of their forms?
Isn't that the job of music?
Isn't it supposed to bring the lovers together, bind them as one?
Will he ever understand?
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SEX AND OTHER TALES
RandomI was tired of youth and being one of the boys I wanted to hurry up and be one of the men. Finally I became an adult, so I threw away my toys Truly now I wish, that I was a boy once again. - Randy McClave We all want to grow up...
