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Rated: · Short Story · Romance/Love · #1053590
Short entry in the brief love of a night.
December 22, 2049.

It was when I heard her violin play, that I fell in love with her.
The symphony plucked from that slow pass at every string composed of my feelings for her, the music streaming along, flowing.
Her, cold, standing serenely in front of the crowd, her eyes closed as if in a beautiful rest, her face pale and painted white by make-up, her lips accentuated by the little dash of red that crosses them, one by one, as her thin limbs flow through the motions, each note after another, a dance as graceful as the swim of the swan, the wind through the fields.
This is my love note to her, kept in letters and words, in case I ever forget this feeling again.
This is my love note to her, in case I lose that note that resounds in my heart, this humanity that I behold right now.
Behind her, full of distractions, lions and elephants running around in a caged ring, doing jumps and tricks along with cues hidden in the music, matching the rhythms and tones.
At her left, a blue-dyed haired young Asian girl, twisting her body like a snake without a spine, contorting and distorting her bones and muscles into impossible positions, curves and angles.
To her right, the crowd wows and laughs at the songs, the lions, the everything that is happening around her.
Her music nothing but the background, a visual aid.
I alone appreciate her beauty.
Undoubtedly so.
The snow, falling and floating, accumulated a couple inches in a few hours, buring everything into layers of white fluff and cotton.
Sitting outside, amongst the stairs and buildings, I see her leaving the striped tents at night, me still waiting stupidly to see her again, not even sure why it even worked.
Leaving the lions and contortionists and stage, she looks up and sees me, and without a second glance, starts walking towards the streets.
"Wait." I try to say, but gets cut off before I even let the word out, as an old style car stops by her, the wheels sliding around in the accumulating snow, and the door opening, a young blond haired man smiling, warm and cozy in a long brown coat.
She enters, I look away, embarrassed, and hear the car starting away, crushing snow flakes under its weight, the breath cold enough to make clouds in the dark, hiding my heart, hiding myself from the headlights of the car.
I hide this note in case I forget how to be happy again.
© Copyright 2006 EijiShinrow (eijishinrow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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