Our Song

Maybe I don’t fall in love enough. With a certain conviction, I know what it takes to feel alive. And I stubbornly resist any other mantra. I lack the raw materials to see my desires actualized so I recklessly simulate the profound feeling with music, biding my time until my eyes lock with hers and we both know that the next track will tell our story.

First the guitar: I don’t know quite what to say so I improvise, leaning heavily on my charm-- relying on my smile to compensate for the meaning absent in my words. I string together the right notes and my riff is a melody to her ears.

Drums, they sync to the beat of my heart as I go in for our first kiss. Ever so slowly-- there’s a kick and there’s a kick and there’s a kick. Though I can’t help but smile at the last second, injecting the levity of snares and hi-hats into an otherwise intense moment.

The sound of piano keys chase one after another as we continue to get to know each other, jumping octaves because life’s unpredictable, and spontaneity keeps the listeners in sweet anticipation.

The horns signal that things are getting serious; loud and exciting in one measure, slow and sultry when the sun has its back to us. Trumpets march us to the bridge, to somewhere quiet, where we can be alone.

But the beat can’t build forever. And the music gets louder and louder, too soon neither musician can resist—and though we said we’d wait--

There’s a Crescendo. There were never two people more into the music.

Like life, it wasn’t composed to last forever. So the music fades, lingering, lingering, and it fades, lingering, and it fades, and it’s gone.

When was the last time I heard that song? It was so long ago but I can’t get it out of my head. All I do is hum it to myself trying desperately to remember all of the words. I wish I could just play it over and over again.

I wish I could play it just one more time.