I'll never back down.
my songs shuffle to Clair de Lune, and I turn around to see you at a set of keys, and you're not there. what i would give up for days just to hear you playing Clair de Lune on the piano again. All the unintentionals, the unintended sounds between the notes. I would have never wanted you to play perfect. The sound of your mind hard at work in the apprehensive pauses, when you shift in your wooden wicker chair or bench releasing its structural tension, when I would hold my breathe in, linger on the last word I read until I could hear the sound of you finding your way back to a musical risk, u know once u make a sound u can never undo it never erase it. u know, that's what i love about music, what i think you loved about it too. you have to learn to love your wrong notes, to love the dissonance you invent when searching for consonance, your stumbles are works of wonder. Dear god how I've missed you, musician, for too many quiet nights. All I've heard since you stopped playing are the echoes of humming dripping appliances, my new fridge sounds like my stomach when it's twisted up in juicy knots…where are you, musician..where are the sounds that narrated the blueprints of your brainy brainy soul, the fattening tensions within you that released when your fingers inspired earthen electricity and pulse in shiny black and white rivers, where'd's your unintentionality prove your intentions so beautifully lost, where'd's your self-doubting lead if not to an unapologetic musical note, my love? What did you expect when I lost you, musician, whose music was my only glimpse into the anguish and pleasure of your muscled mind you kept so selfishly from me thereafter?
