dreamfree

The first bow takes me by surprise. I had never been quite able to take it as it comes. It takes a long time to get ready: take your time to prepare your seat, move right, move left, move front, move back, it doesn't feel quite right; take the case, open it and enjoy the sound of the zipper slowly slipping away-a subtle prelude of what's just about to come; take the case, open it, and carefully take the cello out of its cage; take a minute, a lifetime to admire its beauty in silence, to touch it, to even smell it- thousand stories from the city and form the sea are guarded in a minuscule scratch in the wood; it lies between your legs, you embrace it; you put tight up the bow and put rosin into it, dreaming of the mellow sound it could produce as soon as its skin is touched by the metal of the strings (who touches who?); and then you tune...

I breathe, breathe in, breathe out, always waiting for the perfect moment to come, but I had never realised that moment of chaos that precedes the grand opening...
(Is it?)

I close my eyes, breathe, breathe in, breathe out, repeat. I breathe the As and the flat Bs as oxygen, hoping to read revelation between those abstract, the most abstract lines ever written. And then I dream...

I dream of a parallel dream, someone else's parallel dreams, someone else's shut eyes. Maybe one day my hand will be touched by music's handshake. And I will feel... Maybe one day I am gonna open my eyes, and you are gonna be there.

All of these beautiful things I had always dreamed of, they could be true.

A soothing murmur that never fades, a consistent yet free bowing that caresses my viscous heart. I sit in the darkness, I ignore time. Fingers should be set free, and so must the mind.

I wonder what you see when you shut your eyes. I wonder what you dream of