On Wings of the Seraphim

2.0 Mb/s!

“I wrote you a song, once,” he said, staring at the white clouds cross over the blue sky.
                “You did,” she asks, shocked and excited.
                “Yeah. I wrote the lyrics, I composed the music, I played it with the instruments of a full orchestra all on my own.” Her look of excitement turned to confusion. “That song was my love for you.”
                She looked down. 
                “But you couldn’t hear my song,” he said. “I played it to deaf ears. Sadly the member of my orchestra is injured, but we hope he recovers soon so we can play to a crowd who will love his song as much as he does.”
                She walked with him in silence for a moment.
                “Your heart’s broken, isn’t it?”
                “And another fissure runs across it because you had to ask.”
                “I’m sorry,” she said.
                “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Orchestra’s just not your gig, I guess. Maybe I should have written it for an acoustic guitar. Maybe you would have heard it then.”
                “I don’t get your references.”
                “My love is classical, from a time that’s passed. As is orchestral music and composition. Acoustic guitars have been around for a long time, and I could have just as easily played my love from such an instrument, but I wanted the grand feeling of a massive orchestra playing for one person.”
                “I see.”
                “But it was my undoing. You see, my orchestra made a decent amount of mistakes in the beginning of their performance. It was their first time playing to anyone but themselves, and they were nervous as to how they would be received. They gained confidence as they played; trying to recover from their stumbles, but it was too late. I think maybe the acoustic guitar would have been simple enough that even if mistakes were made, it could have been fixed. I’ll never know, though, it seems.”
                “…” She wouldn’t even look up at this point.
                “It’s fine.”
                “How is it fine?”
                “Because, it seems you can hear it now. The echoes left in the empty concert hall ringing in your ears. It is but a remnant of the music played, but its there. Does it suit your taste?”
                “Mm.” That was all she could manage, a small syllable of agreement.
                “I’m sorry you couldn’t hear it when it was first played. Maybe when the orchestra recovers they will play it for you again. I think you’ll have to ask them to play, this time, though. I don’t know how long it will be until they play their music by their own accord.”
                “I might do that sometime. Will they forget their song or how to play it?”
                “Even if they do forget it, it’s written down. The music is printed permanently on staffs which are embossed on sheets of music. Even if it’s hazy in a player’s mind, it won’t be for long. One look at the bars and it’ll all be back to them. They’ll be willing, almost eager to play the song again.”
                “Can I ask one thing?”
                “Of course.”
                “What is it titled?”
                “I call it Loves Overture.”

I personally believe that is impossible to find a place that is open 24 hours, has Wi-Fi, and power outlets. It cannot be found, and it bothers me so much.

samalwayssmiles asked: So, how do I reply to your comment on my post? I can't figure it out for my life...I'm new to Tumblr.

Don’t worry, I am too. I’m annoyed that there’s no way to just message (that I can find), so I’m having trouble with it. I found a reply button in the top right of the box. … I think.

I have created this specifically to attempt to make contact with the people I find. It’s sadly difficult when they choose not to let you.