Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved music more than anything else in her entire world. Her Mother must have played Bach and Mozart for her when she was still cooking in the oven because there was something about violins and pianos that had an affinity to place joy filled tears in her eyes. She simply drank in music. It was what she always longed to share with the friends and strangers she encountered and the men she fell for touched her heart through songs they inspired in one another. And more than any other past time, playing music alone brought a sense of satisfaction to her sensitive heart.
One day, during a time when she'd forgotten what her soul had been thirsting for, she was given a gift. Someone had thought it fit to leave two tickets on her doorstep, tickets to a time capsule of music serenity. She had been many times in her life, walking through the grand doors under the sparkling chandeliers, the hallways brimming with starved souls all basking in the greatness surrounding them. More than transcendence, it was a merging of hopes with possibilities; her last cross over the threshold was with a hopeful stranger and the conductor choked over his loving words when describing one of the final pieces. Seeing someone overcome by the sheer beauty of what they're creating is an awe inspiring experience. It lasts a mere vapor of time and yet the misty smiling eyes haunt your memory for years in the future.
Somehow, in spite of all the girl's trials, she was going to step over that threshold once again and hand in hand with her newest, most dear friend. Overcome with smiles, the girl bounced through her days, imagining the satin dress she would wear, the stolen sideways glances that would fill the night and the possibility of stars that would follow her that eve and every eve thereafter. Sheer fairytale, some mused. But she just smiled believing each fantasy was as possible as anyone's reality.
As the week approached, something, ever so slightly, shifted in the girl. Her desire, her anticipation gave way to an even greater passion; an urge to give. You see, the girl, as she passed many strangers each day, passed by someone she'd never seen before, a woman. The girl didn't know the woman but she saw that something in the woman had fallen asleep and as she walked through her days there was a glaze over her lackluster eyes that mirrored her discontent for the life that chose her. Her dissatisfaction was subtle, yet for whatever reason, the girl was sensitive to it. And sensing the woman held a need far greater than the girl's, she approached the woman, trepidation and all and placed the gift in the woman's open hand.
To the girl's surprise, the woman didn't say a word but simply met the girl's glance and continued walking away. The girl began to cry. But with tears she'd never felt before. In spite of her own loss, something new had formed in her and she tasted what it was to love someone who would never return her love. Love was such a needy, possessive beast, wanting it's own desires, craving it's own reaffirmation. To love without any reciprocity was both overwhelming and fully satisfying. There was something lasting in such selflessness. This is the stuff my fairytale is made of, the girl thought.
And one day, just as the gift itself fell at the girls feet in a moment of surprising generosity, there would come a day when the secret desires of her heart would return to her wrapped in a tiny box, kept safely tucked away in the love of an unknown dear heart.
And believing such fairy tales created the melody of delicious uncertainty that the girl danced to and delighted in. Someone, somewhere would see all the girl had seen and want to hear all the songs she was waiting to sing.
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