Bow Drawn Under Light

To some it may seem a love affair, and to others a performance. Her affection is unseen by many, heard of by most.
Her hair laid low, held in tight strings along the wooden borders of a bow. Her body, slender and curvy, bouncing around the edges of a hollow shell. She exudes sound with elegance and volume. Her voice rings in your ears, often mistaken for the whispers of some goddess or another. I've seen those who hold her, those who brace themselves against her chest with such passion. When they play, the delight flutters from their determined smile to the edges of their fingers. It is a romance novel written in musical notation.

A sight for those that are groomed and able to gawk for long hours. Those that can ogle from the faraway stands, hanging above like bats in a cave. And yet to the love birds, chirping as they tend to, those eyes do not exist. They do not feel the pressure of a concentrated glare on their neck. This exchange between two hearts is too grand for that - too strong and beloved. I can only assume that those creatures, skulking around the room in their tailored adornments and excessive perfume, have only jealousy for what lay on the waxed wood floor. The way he moves, her hands in his, in such fluid motion - a flowing river on stage. With such ease does he pluck her strings, kiss her nape, and say her name. It is an intimate moment between a man and his instrument, arousing the eardrums of those with perked ear.

To think that such ardor can be displayed in front of an audience of hundreds, is unconscionable. That their affection for one another could be deemed a form of entertainment, a temporary delight for which one can escape their day-to-day, is absolutely vulgar. Has anybody any shame at all? All these fools can garner is the money from their pocket, so that they may experience the verve of ideal love, even for a limited window of time. Can they not see the sacred nature of this connection between string and vein - between human and ethereal? Can they not simply shield their eyes in order to respect an ordeal so profound, so touching to the soul, that even Death would stop his business and listen?

Comments

  1. Ben BalazsMarch 2, 2015 at 3:09 AM

    This was inspired by a documentary I watched about the wonder of musicianship, and how the relationship explains much of what makes us fundamentally human.

    ReplyDelete

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