Answer to self challenge:
choose a piece of music that inspires you, and write about it.
The music floats all around, as
we spin and twirl madly about. The pulsing rhythm's, the low mournful cry
of violins, and the warmth of your body, pressed firmly against me bring
forth imagery both erotic, and graceful.
You move in circles, your smile
showing that you are reflecting inwardly, concentrating on your next next
step, anticipating my next
move. When your eyes flit
up to mine, and then look away shyly, I feel a flutter in my chest as my
heart forgets to beat, and then remembers once again in a panic to keep
time with the music.
Your body moves like fluid, your
feet hardly touch the ground, and the effect seems contagious. Gradually
I feel as if I am being lifted, and the rigors of life fall away, there
is nothing but the two of us, and the cacophony of music that seems to
be fading as well. There are no horrors, no past deeds or misdeeds, no
end and no beginning, only us. No harsh words, nor disapproval of others,
no self recriminations, and no death. Only life and love, and the melody.
The same as there could be no
words of any language that could do justice to this perfect mixture of
tones, sounds, notes and tempo, so there are no phrases or ways to say
how I feel about you. The closest approximation would be that within you,
there lies perfection. An impossible balance of physical beauty,
mental abilities, and emotional rightness that compliment me in every way.
You make up for my shortcomings, accommodate my moral instability and hold
up my spirit, even as we are flying about the room.
The pace is building, leading
to a climactic end. I am not ready for it, this ascent back to the ugly
world. The cold and colorless
existence that I lead, with only
these brief moments to remind me to live, to breathe, eat, sleep, and go
on. Still, I must admit, this is my favorite part of the song. When
the speed becomes so frantic, the motions so complex, that we forget the
facade. Raw emotion shows on your face, your breathing quickens,
your skin flushes, and your lips fall open slightly. Our eyes lock, and
we forget to look away. Our motions combine, blending to become one being,
one body. There is no conscious thought, only base instinct and the knowledge
that where one of us the other is moving, the other is already reacting,
countering one step with another. By this point, we are touching at every
possible point along our bodies, and it is just right. The friction of
your thigh rubbing me, the feel of your hands clutching my back and shoulder,
and your heart pounding against mine all seem as if we were born this way,
meant to be a single entity, but some freakish act of cruelty separated
us, and I was brought to existence long before you. We are two halves.
I the half that will never be warm without you, the side that has seen
too much without you optimism that makes tragedy philosophy, the image
without the color, the music without the instrument. I am nothing, I always
have been and always will be, unless you fill in the empty places. It would
seem that I will be forever destined to look for myself outside of my own
existence, seek approval from those who will never approve, and love from
those who can't or won't love me back. I have loved three things in my
miserable life. My father, my home and you. My father died, denying me
till nearly his last breath. My home is a lifeless hulk of rock and dust,
being eaten alive from the inside, and which will never love me as I have
loved it. And you, why would you love me? I am entertainment to you.
Like this haunting, almost living collection of sounds, beauty and balance,
I can be put aside, and brought back out when you are bored or seeking
Ah, the last, slow strains of
the song are dying, and we are coming back from our wonderland. As the
last hum fades away, you look at me, and I can see that you, too, are sorry
for the end. It's there, in you eyes, those amber pools that I could gladly
delve into and drown. You want to keep going, whether for the physical
rush you get from the motion, or because of the of the belief that perfection
can be achieved, however briefly.
Merciful deities, this is not
the end. I watch in heartsick relief as your lips begin to move, and you
ask me breathlessly, "Again?" I barely contain my emotions, and say as
calmly as I can manage, "Of course, dear doctor. I must say, I could become
addicted to Terran music, and this waltz especially."