Spiegel im Spiegel.
Mirror within Mirror.
It's easily my favorite piece of music; so sparse, so elegant, yet so minimalist, so glass-like.
An embryo that opens up, bursting like a water-filled balloon, slowly shedding its water to parched elements like grass and sand.
It's a dance, a wave, an open invitation to sway and feel rejuvenated with the somber melody of the cello against the pointillist strains of the piano.
I await a straightforward line of music, but am given mounds upon mounds of these waves, shattering the silence and overall moistening the sky with heavenly, heavenly, faintness.
Dear one, I hear you crying. Why? Is it me? Is it my voice? Do you hear it?
I laugh. Laugh at your quirks, enjoy your boister, feel your smirking.
Even if the sound is blurred, you cry instantly upon the sound of my voice. My happy voice.
I adjoin our voices. I scream, gleefully.
Like a chirping bird, afraid to lose its chatter.
I'm afraid to lose you. Oh, dear one.
I speculate the day you die, when I cry.
Crying gracefully, but excruciatingly painfully.
Or gone away.
Or found by another.
You say it is not the distance, but the quality of the sound that matters.
Even at far ends, soft glistening voices shatter silences.
I love you for your music. The music calls me beloved.
I hear the last strains and feel as if I'm lifted up.
Like that water-filled balloon, that just is splashed around, flung to the heavens.
Please think of me always, even at our distance.
Love is just around the corner. Wait let's not.
Open my aggrieved soul.
Feel my legato, upon your staccato.