If I know you at all, you’re rolling your eyes as you’re reading this. Hopefully you’re actually reading it and didn’t just throw the whole thing away.
I know. You’ve made yourself very clear in the past. Valentine’s Day is a ridiculous commercial event and you want no part of it. I get it. And to tell the truth, I’m not far from thinking the same way you do. If it wasn’t for Ollie’s habit of getting me extravagant gifts that make me feel like I have to reciprocate, I’d ignore the whole thing the same way you do. And I promise you that this is a one-off occasion and will not happen again.
(Unless you want it to happen again…?)
I can’t remember the first time I sat in front of a piano. I must have been so small that I was sitting on my father’s lap. I’ve played all my life – and for what feels like a large part of it, I’ve played your music. Played the emotions you put down into music.
What I’d never done until meeting you was compose.
For you, composing seems as easy as breathing. Or as easy as breathing would be if we breathed…
For me… not so much. You know it already because you’ve watched me struggle over these notes for three years now. You’ve been very patient. And very kind with your encouragements when you saw I was stuck.
May you be just as kind when you hear the final result. It’s not all that good, I’m afraid. Oliver can claim otherwise all he wants, I know he’s only trying to spare my feelings. But I tried my best.
I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the easy way out and giving you the sheet music rather than playing this serenade for you. And I hope the words I don’t dare say still come through with every note.