a cadence (Latin cadentia, "a falling") is "a melodic or harmonic configuration that creates a sense of resolution, finality or pause.
Will music finally bring them back together for good? Or will music give them their rightful resolution or finalit...
There is rain and sunshine everywhere you turn, but life is about finding the storm you're willing to face each time it resurfaces and I've found the one worth it all. She's the reason storm drenched clothes aren't so bad, instead she's shown me new ways to dance in the rain, to bask in the music.
No matter what the storm brings I've found a million reasons to brace myself from it. Too much sun, and I'll burn. Too many storms, and I'll drown. Yet, I've found sunshine mixed with a little bit of hurricane and I've never had so many reasons to smile, before now.
I've found the one that feels like home, safe and inviting. The porch light left on for me, in such a dark and cold world, to find my way back to her. The rhapsody that has warmed my heart and soul.
My clarinetist.
Her eyes, closed, having one of her mini naps she usually takes whenever I drive her home, perhaps exhausted from everything that happened tonight. Having all that I need, right here on the passenger seat, I wouldn't have it any other way. Her breathing, calm, relaxed, steady adagio. She must be really tired. But that look of hers just making me want to take care of her and make sure she doesn't get sick from being in the rain, with me.
Good thing that she left her access card on the dashboard so I didn't have to wake her from her slumber. I parked the car in the basement. I check on my right to see if she has finally opened her eyes.
She hasn't. I wish I didn't have to wake her. Maybe not, not for a few minutes. I look at her and admire that beauty.
To my eyes, she was more than a Monet or Van Gogh painting, I have never felt more drawn to this art than how I feel now. Years after not being with her and now she's right here, beside me.
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I sat in silence on the driver's seat, still looking at her, as if I were front of Van Gogh's starry night, completely mesmerized. Sucked into it, admiring it. Adoring it. Trying to zoom into each little star in its midnight sky. My eyes touched each shade of color and each stroke of brush. I wanted to explore all of its delicate details from each angle.
This is art.
Loving.
Loving is art.
And I get to be with her, my precious work of art, spend time with her, make up for the lost time. Explore each other, once more, everything that feels familiar and yet brand new. Nurture it, the love. Study the curves, shapes and colors once more. Feel her and surrender to the art. Loving is a sense of being. Love is free of judgments; it's unexpected. It's beautiful to explore someone. Like art, Like music.
Like her.
A picture would never do it justice, but I take one anyway of her sleeping. And this stupid stupid maestro, as always, forgot to put the phone to silent, waking the beautiful clarinetist beside me, as I immediately put my phone back inside my pocket.
