Someone reminded me of how music connects us to each other and to the memories of the past, so I went back in time and pulled this from my memories.
Music and love, interconnected. Informing and reforming. Music of the spheres -- celestial and human.
He gave me music.
Whenever our paths crossed he offered a new song, a new offering of love. We were in the moment, the heat of love and desire where it's hard to see or think. Thwarted desire clears the vision and let's you see the truth hidden in the lines.
Music swirls through your mind and heart, firing emotion and kindling desire. The meaning of the words are colored and distorted.
In disappointment you shed tears of loss and loneliness and sing the words while the music wraps you around with memories of thwarted love. Through the tears and pain the words take on a new meaning. You see the truth.
They weren't for you. They were words of his pain, his loneliness. They were meant for someone else. He offered them to you because he wanted to feel those emotions, feel that fire again. But it was a lie. You were a substitute. It was never meant to be.
The music was a gift, an offering of love, a remembrance and a plea to save him from loneliness, a dream of the past when love was innocent and young, new as the first crocus that pops its head above the snow with the first blush of color. A promise of the bright fire of living summer and the blazing death of autumn fighting for the last moment of sunshine and warmth.
Youth and innocence can be remembered. They cannot be recaptured. Experience and life change the color and music of innocence. Pain and loneliness mark innocence and youth. It is in the eyes, those deep windows to the soul. It's in the music when you listen. Desire and memories are in the music, too.
He offered me his heart, scarred by disappointment and loneliness, lost love and hope. It wasn't for me. We had changed too much. Innocence was gone. Time and tide battered our souls on the rocks. We needed understanding and were caught up in need and desire. It was an illusion, a mirage. An image of desire in the heated desert of loneliness. Reaching toward the soft shimmering shapes of our heart's deepest desire, we forget the desert, the relentless heat of the burning sun, the dry taste of defeat. It isn't in us to give up until we have been so battered by the pitiless sun and crushed by the waves of chance and circumstance all hope is gone.
Through the tears and pain I finally saw the truth. I was his first love. She was his last and still held his heart hostage. He didn't see it. He was caught in the mirage, the memory of innocent love past.
It's hard to forget your first love. Time softens the hard edges and mutes the glaring colors. It's harder to forget your last love because it's imprint is fresh and deep, hard and harsh and blinding. We look away from the glare toward the softer light of innocent love, first love. Last love, mature love leaves an indelible mark on our soul. It's there in the words wrapped around with pain and music.
He offered me music -- her music. He offered me love -- the love she spurned and he still carried like a torch in his heart. I kept the music and returned the love. It belongs to another. I still have the first love. She has the last. And I have my last love, mature love, the one I have waited for all my life.
Pain sweeps away innocence and leaves you scarred and raw. Pain also remodels your heart and makes you ready for the future. Pain opens the deep places where true love will take root and flourish. You can't plant the seed until the earth is wounded. Raw and bleeding it accepts the seed, nourishes it and gives birth to life, a flush of color that deepens and blazes with time until it produces seeds and roots to bring it life again and again until there is no more nourishment in the soil or the life giving sun of regard.
I remember the innocent love. I cherish the last love...mature everlasting strong and resilient true love.
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