January 8th, 2009
"If you can't listen to yourself, then how can you talk to others?" - Ludwig van Beethoven
Why am I writing about Beethoven, diary of mine? One proper noun: Capriol (neƩ Liam).
Yes, Capriol. He came and, for a lack of better words, fucked everything up.
My tranquility ended the second the virtuoso picked up his violin and duetted "Solveig's Song" with me.
He plays like me. He plays with talent but with the passion, the pathos that my rivals lack completely. He is true music.
I want to live in harmony to that music, that person.
However, that person, that beautiful musician is three years my senior and he will soon dissappear from my life for ever
But oh, how I don't want to give up that music! I don't want to give him up!
I am enamoured of him. I knew this the second he played with me.
My dreams tell me that I am enamoured of Capriol because he is older and I want him to save me from myself.
I want to be rescued because, as Beethoven said, I am not strong enough to listen to myself.