I walk out my door and greet the slight chill of an early Spring morning in Canterlot. After a deep breath of the fresh air, I begin the small trek to my usual spot.
The day began like a piece I’d write about Spring, light and relaxed, void of any really heavy emotions.
When I reach my usual street corner, I take out my violin and a small jar. I place the jar a couple feet in front of me and begin to warm up my voice.
My life could be translated into melancholy piece, however I prefer to see it more as a hopeful aria.
Not long after, the streets begin to fill with the hustle and bustle of your average day in Canterlot. I do my best to tune out the chatter, and I begin to play.
It’s always interesting to think of all the ponies who hear my music everyday. It often falls on deaf ears. However, an occasional pony stops to appreciate it.
Throughout the day a few ponies stop and drop a couple bits in the jar, while most continue on their way.
And that gets me thinking even more, how many things do we miss in life because we are in a hurry. Sometimes it’s best to stop and smell the roses.
A loud clatter breaks my concentration. I open my eyes to see a light blue pegasus who had dropped around ten bits in the jar. He wore a wide smile on his face. His eyes looked wet as if he’d been crying.
Music has the power to make you feel something, but the listener must open up and ready to experience that emotion.
"Oh, why thank you very much, that's very kind of..." I trail off. After gazing at this kind pony for a short while, I realize something. "Hold on, you're Spectair, the famous author. Oh, geez, I mean, wow. I'm a huge fan of your work.”
Fame is always an iffy topic. Some ponies just want to see their name up in lights. However, other ponies, myself included, simply want our work to be heard.
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” He says, sounding a little shy about the fact. Then we both stand there in a slightly awkward silence, each of us a bit timid.
In music, sometimes a small pause and a slight silence can take your breath away.
“That piece was beautiful.” A complement from somepony whose work I admire always feels amazing.
“Really? It’s just something simple that I wrote.” I feel my face warm up as I rub the back of my head.
Beautiful music is ironic, as beauty is usually related to what is seen, not heard.
Suddenly he begins to speak, "Do you wanna go grab something to drink, at the cafe, with me?" His cheeks turn red.
The question surprises me, “Me?”
“No, your violin,” He jokes, “Of course you.”
“Oh, well I’d love to,” my face goes from warm to burning.
It’s funny that I can always be so outgoing when it comes to my music, but in a real life situation, I’m a shy fool.
He chuckles a bit, “Actually, I should have thought this out a bit. You see, I’ve never really visited Canterlot before and therefore have idea where anything is. Could you kindly show me around a bit?”
“I’d be honored.” With my reply we make our way to the cafe.
When we reach the counter we both order the same kind of tea.
In music there is no such thing as a coincidence. Everything is intentional and meticulously planned. Usually.
We chat for a while, we speak of our own works and comment on each others.
“Do you have any plans for dinner tomorrow night?” His question catches me completely off guard.
“Well, I, um...” is all I manage to stammer out.
I wish romance could be as straightforward as my music.
“Oh, it’s fine, I understand if you’re busy,” he sounds slightly disappointed.
I’ve really made a fool of myself. “No, I mean, yes, well no, err,” I should just quit now. “Okay, no I don’t have plans and yes I’d love to go out with you for dinner tomorrow.”
Sometimes the music that is most difficult to write turns out to be the best.
We start dating consistently, going on picnics, seeing a few shows, some romantic dinners.
It’s an entirely different experience to listen to music alone and with someone else. When you're with your special somepony and a love song starts playing. It’s an amazing thing.
The palace gardens are covered with a thin layer of snow. We walk slowly in silence, words weren’t necessary at this point.
Winter is my favorite time of year, the ice and the stormy grey days are some of my favorite inspirations.
I suddenly realize how cold it is and begin to shiver. Without a word he reaches out his wing and covers me. I lean my head on his neck. His coat is warm and I can feel his heartbeat.
It was amazing. Our love was a most beautiful aria, flowing softly and gently, building in strength, moving towards a big crescendo.
We approach a modest bench and he gestures for me to sit down. He kneels on the ground.
And here it came, the remarkable crescendo, the moment where everything changes.
My stomach began to churn, my head buzzed, my ears rang. My entire body anticipated this moment. “Vosare, I truly love you, will you-”
A truly beautiful piece of music, when goosebumps appear and you start to cry. A piece that leaves you stunned, it makes you laugh from sheer beauty.
I can’t contain myself. I leap on top of him, giggling like a little filly.
“I will.”
A fermata. A hold. When an astounding piece comes to a pinnacle there is always a pause. You try to hold on to all of the pieces of emotions that you have felt, but you realize there is no point. That moment of pure joy can’t last. You feel almost sad until the music returns. And yet, the music comes back with more beauty than you could possibly expect. You feel complete.
That’s how I felt right now, complete. And in love.
