He feels tense. His fingers spread over the keys like a performer about to perform, nervous in every which way possible. The silence is unbearable at first. But he knows he can break that silence with the weight of his finger upon the key. He touch the ivory object, and the silence is broken as the notes form some unspeakable emotion, some kind that one longs for all of one's life yet one dreads each moment of. The volume rises and falls like the sea, like the rhythm of one's breath, up and down, each beat a little different than the first, as it hastens towards a destination and slows when nearing, fearing to come upon it. It goes faster, and louder, then softer, and slower; and the process happens over again. There is a break, a break in the emotion, a silence to be broken. It is a change, a change in form, shape, place, heart, and being; all is changed with that single action, consisting of many. Again, the emotion is heard, but in a different form, a little lighter, a little quieter, but an emotion it still is. It still rises and falls, quickens and slows, all to the whim of the conductor that is he. It speaks an unspeakable feeling, one that can be only felt and not spoken of. The volume grows great, then simply quiets and stops, once again, to signal a change in the being, a change in the emotion, a change in the heart. It is the conclusion, not even halfway through this poem without words, but the climax it is, and can only be, the feeling it radiates throughout the senses, the emotion one feels when one listens to it, and it us unmistakably the climax. It grows only greater and greater, until once again, it halts; it halts once more to signal a change, and again, with only one swift motion, the emotion is changed once more; a calmer, gentler tone, but still conveying the same feeling as before. It is quieter now, a feeling of happiness, a feeling of something one can't quiet describe with words. It gradually slows, getting softer with each note, until it stops, and is over. The fall of the music marked the end of the song. He stands up, and takes his bow to the present crowd, but he knows she is not there.
Without her, there was no audience to hear him. To convey a feeling to someone not present is to convey the feeling to no one, even in the presence of others. He feels not happiness, but sadness, for he knows that he had no such an audience that night, when he cast his pearls into the unlearning swine. He knows only that she was the only audience, that she could be the only one to truly listen to him.
"If only I had an audience," he whispers. "If only I had an audience..."
18 December 2004
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