As I look back on the piece of music we were working on, I'm amazed that it actually made it as far it did before it fell apart. Sure, I was the one to make the sudden changes in tone and measure, but I thought that it would make the overall piece stronger. Something to set it apart from from the tunes we grew up on, something that rang fresh and true to the ear. Something... we could be remembered for. The beat and the tempo were there all along, but maybe my notes were too sharp and yours too quiet. Trustingly, I gave it back over to you. You will know what to do. This is your thing, something you're good at, and it just needs some fleshing out. I wasn't prepared for the fact that when you returned it, there was not one remnant of anything I had brought to the piece. The notes I'd added had been erased and written over. Out of sight out of mind, right? Did my notes not make sense? Did they turn your stomach with their treble or send your heart beating too fast with their pace? I don't admit to knowing everything about music but I thought they sounded fine. I thought that they added a sweet touch to the overall melody. I've since grown weary of jumping back into the song that resembles nothing of what I envisioned we could both do together. It has all of you in it but I don't see, and I can't hear, where I'm needed in the tune now. I had picked you as my partner because I was your biggest fan. I believed in the things in your head and the direction you could go. Your music was a revelation to me, so full of heart and passion. I even hung your poster on my wall like a star-struck teen. Now I look at the poster hanging there and I wonder how I ever thought I could be a part of your world. You are well on your own journey with plenty of tour stops along the way and, though not stuck by any means, the touring life is not in my schedule. I had my jaunt a long time ago.
