Insanity

Your hands are moving up and down the air in an exorbitant manner. I sit in the front row, your back directly in front of me. Others are watching the show too, sprinkled around the music hall. You are playing the music of the observers, at the beat of stomping feet, hand clasping and impatient finger taps; the sounds of coughs, whispers and jeers mix into a symphony of sound. Your hands gently, but quickly, create a flow of music as the orchestra sits frozen, waiting for a minute gesture to grant them life.

The violinists spring into life with an eerie sound that fills the hall. My heart begins to beat faster. Your hands follow my heartbeat in speed. The violinists play faster, faster, faster. A cellist begins to play at my heart strings. I could hear your heartbeat; it’s thrusting against your chest at the same beat as mine. I listen more intently. The whole orchestra wakes up with a cacophonous sound.

Your hands bend the sound into something beautiful as the orchestra speeds up. Allegro. The sound feels like a river, flowing endlessly out of your hands into me. I submerge myself into it and I feel at home.

With a flick of your hand the sound abruptly ends. The orchestra returns to its frozen state. Then it begins once more, the anticipation for sound; the need to hear more and the yearning to leave clash inside of me. Your hands continue to move up and down at the sound of sweet manipulation and I’m left listening to the music of silence. (via)