𝐥𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞

♡

𝐋𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄
life in rosy hues

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     When I was younger, I wanted to find love.

     I didn't think love came with both kisses and heartbreaks. I didn't anticipate the shy, first time hello's and the heart-destroying last time goodbye's because those were always the hardest things to do. I didn't know that love would change my life. I didn't know that it would change the way I see the world. I didn't think love would make me see la vie en rose.

     But most of all, I didn't know love would come in messy black hair and square glasses. I didn't know that a clumsy action, a crack on the tile floor in the hallway, and falling would change my world forever. I didn't think love sounded like a singer. I didn't think love had fingers calloused because of strings, and had those very fingers tap tunes and pretend to play imaginary pianos during class. I didn't think love would emit music and noise and everything loud.

     "I am so sorry!" I yelled over and over, frantically picking up his music sheets.

     "It's fine." He assured.

     I put a strand of hair behind my ear.

     "You're Marlowe, right?" He asked.

     "Yeah." I replied, handing him all his papers.

     "I'm Phillip." He smiled.

      If music could be described as anything, it would be Phillip Choi, because Phillip Choi was the pleasant sounds I wanted to hear in a rainy day. The sounds that would cheer me up when I felt sad or lonely. Like music, he would always be there when I needed him most. Like the music he played, he was beautiful.

     After school, we would go to the music room, and by then the beautiful sunset would've already started to creep in. At 5:30, the sky would be a brilliant mix of blues and purples and it would dissolve into orange at the horizon. I remember looking outside of the window in the classroom chair, listening to your melodies and the music you played; the notes surging along with the candy colored clouds. I looked at him, and a pink shade enveloped my senses. I was living la vie en rose.

     There was never a dull moment with him because it was never quiet, but in moments where I needed the silence---that's exactly what he gave me.

    "Marlowe?" You asked, fingers ceasing from the piano, "Hey, are you okay?'

     I sniffled tears, and I couldn't stop them from falling, "This song-"

     He stood up, walking towards me.

    "My father used to-"My voice cracked, and the snivel turned into a sob, "Phillip, I-"

     His arms spread, and he hugged me tightly, "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry."

      I inhaled sharply, my breathing was not steady, and my tears were dropping on to his uniform.

      "I forgot." He hugged me tighter, "I'm sorry."

      I remembered silence, that was all I could hear. The power of music and memory, it's overbearing. How something could transcend from years before through music. How it can signal your brain into a frenzy, and how I can always remember the wonderfully short times with my late father. The song he sang to me to sleep, how it lingered in my dreams, and how it abruptly stopped when I started to cry. There are times where loudness didn't matter, but the sound of his music was too intoxicating not to hear again.