Who is this girl walking through the mist?

The mist of notes and song?

I thought I knew myself so well,

But this girl is something new.

A part of myself that I never knew existed,

Brought out by the whines and whistles of clarinets,

The bellows and blows of trumpets,

Even the soft tinkling of piano.

In a way, I guess I can say she’s me,

But she’s a better part of me,

One that encompasses the passions of humanity.

The anger of abuse,

The pain of loss,

The pleasure of affection,

And, probably most of all,

She embraces the more subtle aspects of being human.

More than love and loss,

More than hate and pain,

Everything a soul can preserve, she can be.

She encompasses a part of me, maybe the best of me,

Bringing out all that my soul cries to say,

Everything my immortal being yearns to be.

So, in a way, she is me,

We think as one,

We feel as one,

We exist as one.

Through melodies and music.

We feel whatever Music tells us to.

No, but that’s wrong.

The notes give no orders, they simply are.

They are what bring out the best,

They are what gives her life.

Breath.

Love.

A soul.

The Music.

Her music.

My music.