his song

the heart wants what the heart wants

I don’t want to work on his stupid song. 

Yet, all my other compositions refuse my pleas. All those but his are silent.

Booking the university’s smallest music hall is a rare opportunity. Even for a Friday night. I’m lucky someone canceled last minute and allowed me to take the spot. 

The campus is nearly deserted because there’s a party or a dance or … a something somewhere. But there’s always a party or a dance or a something on the weekends. 

I like this small, cozy theater the best. The acoustics are sublime. And I wish, oh how I wish, I could play anything else. Sing anything else.

But his song is like the beat of my heart … strong, stubborn, sorrowful.

I take the composition notebook with his song to the piano. Open it to the first page. I lay my pencil beside it, in case inspiration strikes, and I start to play…

Soft at first. I’m walking up the steps. He’s there. The morning light a halo over his dark hair. Broad shoulders. Protector. Warrior. Angel. 

The music gets less soft, notes closer together. God, the ache for him makes my belly feel hollow. 

I’m trembling. 

And so are the piano keys. 

The wind in his hair and then he turns. His gaze meets mine for a microsecond. His jaw clenches. His eyes narrow. 

Now a short crescendo because I see the demon.

My fingers fly across the keys as the intro blends into the rhythm of my heartbeat. 

I feel the presence of someone else beside me.

I open my eyes.

He’s there. Sitting on the bench with me.

“Pretty,” he says.

“Me?” I ask. “Or the song?”

He smirks. “Do you need a compliment?”

“Yes.”

He closes the distance between us. He gaze drops to my mouth. “You’re pretty,” he says with a voice that wraps around my heart like a silk ribbon. “Your song is pretty, too.” The ribbon tightens and my heart, my foolish heart, constricts.

His fingers slide around my neck, his palm pressing into my throat. There’s enough pressure against my trachea to cause pain.

He whispers, “You called me here. Remember that.”

Yes. Yes, I know. I invited him into my reality with music.

He repays me with silence.

#Yearn

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