"I was swept away, with nothing left to say, some helpless fool; I was lost." The music blared across the room, carrying with it an ache of fond remembrance. The room was paneled in azure hues; bed, curtains, pictures and even the walls hinted of blue in all of it's shades. Even the look in his eyes was reminiscent of blue.
His fingers danced across the keyboard with a rhythm that matched his swiftly beating heart; matching his thoughts. Was he saying the right words; spelling them out correctly; showing one's thoughts and heart is always a chancy thing. Usually for him it feels as if he is playing a game; one wrong word could end it. Too much love could push the One away while too little would starve both him and the One Love's breath. He inhaled sharply as his eyes caressed his written words, wishing with his entire being that his fingers could touch the One's throat, cheek, hand. He felt his mind swim...with memory.
"I love you," whispered hesitantly in the barely lit room. Her shape, smooth like a ripple of a wave, not quite touching him. His heart, he knew at that moment, would be forever changed. His eyes focused on what his fingers were doing, caressing her neck and cheek, willing her to understand the depth of feeling he had for her. Wishing he could transfer to her how much he loved her.
Change. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache; velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her but by his willingness to accept the healing Love could gift. Such is the essence of all creation. These are the rules.
The shifting from one song to another brought him to the present smoothly; the memory brought both pain and acceptance. A strange mixture to cause peace. Back to the purpose, he demanded himself. He was to write a letter to Her. So far from him; three hours drive was an eternity and a breath to lovers. He needed her and wanted her to understand.
So he writes,
"Dear xxxxx.." No, not correct, he rewrites.
"Dear xxxxxxx,
Our time together was too sweet for my memories; I feel them, like in those silly romance movies we never watched together, filled with background music. Yes, I can actually remember our times together as if floating in a song..."
