Perform a ballad. Lace your hands together into an upward stretch, and crack your fingers before laying them upon the ivory. Strike every key with certainty and artistry, using the notes like knives to cut clean through the silence.
Let your voice echo from the back of your throat to the end of the halls as if you were praising a god. Remind me of the reason why I cherish your every verse and collect your slow songs like fireflies in a glass jar. Belt until no one else can hear how wide your vocal range is but me.
I want to be the only member of your standing ovation and the muse that inspired your every composition. Hum me your love letters, lyrics, and rhymes that only you could vocalize, and I will fly over the moon, into the sky filled with stars that we named after each other.
If your voice cracks, own it with pride. Smile. I didn’t fall in love with how beautifully your tone resounded, but with every mystery it sang about that I was lucky enough to unravel.
Your cacophonies sounded like symphonies in my ears, and I couldn’t have asked for a better musicale.