Tribute

My music director is a teacher. He is a teacher because he taught me more about myself than about the music he helped me to make. He taught me to open my eyes, free my heart and dance to the music in my soul. He taught me that I could still learn when I thought that I had already known all that I needed to know. He requested me to leave my ego at the doorstep and showed me that he still respected me when I was disarmed. He showed me that he had a temper, but he was also fair, and funny too.

Through him, I have learnt to let Him and Her be. It's their choices, not mine. My previous entry was proven to have gone through as little considerate thought as it took me to fire the slew of digital accusations. My opinions don't matter for now because they are merely observations from my position.

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At 1 a.m., that familiar warmth curled up beside me, it felt like home. Not the physical domain, instead, it's the final port my ship comes to call. My shield from the storm, the winds and the rain -- my home away from home. For the tingle of her comfort at the end of the day, I'd slave for a day and risk much more away from her.

At 8 a.m., her opulent gems are a sight to behold. As they fight back fingers of sleepy restraint, her eyelids betray their struggle -- bright and glittering orbs of child-like passion. The eyes can't be the windows to the soul, because if they are so, her soul should be darker than night and more consuming than the depths. But they are warm and comforting, offering a seclusion that I can retreat to in respite to find peace -- peace in her hands.

Whenever I hide, I close my eyes. I close my eyes to concentrate on feeling and touching. Every night, before we drift away, there is a dance her hands perform in an almost ritualistic manner. A stacato tapdance, they dance upon the surface on which they rest, seemingly welcoming our impending journey. I close my eyes and wait for that performance nightly now, and it has become my adopted ritual. Without them, sleep is but purposeful and short, nothing like the way we drift to wake and find one another again.


JKLM