If only I could learn the notes and write the symphony that would unlock your heart. Eleven years of piano lessons and I still can’t find the right chords to make you stop in your tracks and hear the message I am trying to get across to you.
Am I out of tune with your soul? Am I playing in the wrong key? Don’t you hear the agonising pauses waiting for your response as my fingers dance across the ivories?
I want serenade you with a melody that reaches right into your depths, stirring parts of you that you try to control. I want every strike of the piano keys to resound within you, reverberating, throbbing, until you cannot contain innate primal urges. I want you to be overtaken with the magnificence of the moment, and to need more.
Do you recall this sweet refrain? You and I – cheek to cheek – your hand firmly steering me at the waist. We took the magic of the moment and paraded it on the ballroom floor, for ogling spectators to mutter hushed whispers as their puerile minds jumped to salacious conclusions.
They may have imagined some illicit affair, some covert tryst, but we know otherwise. It’s a simple word…with a great deal of meaning: HARMONY. Two hearts, able to read one another, able to weave their own musical language that transcends semi-quavers an treble clefs.
I play my symphony, and you play me yours, and we enthuse in each other’s talents. We admire. We spend time enjoying the musicality of the moment. We sigh, because the harmony between each other is our sweet escape.
So you disappear….you retire for the evening, after a fond “adieu!” I watch as you walk away, holding my breath in case you return. Soon you have vanished from my view. All I can do is return to my piano and wonder what it is I am doing wrong?
Oh Darling, I will be here, faithfully practicing the concerto I know I need to master, hoping to impress you on your next visit. Sweetest maestro, there will be more, I just know it, and we will be caught up in the mystique of the moment. You will always save the last dance for me.