My Notes

I was once in love with a musician, and he plucked the strings of his guitar with such grace and accuracy that the essence of his notes were almost hypnotizing to listen to. But his virtuosity and his intrinsic skill made him regulate and adjust my way of playing my own notes. I wasn’t consciously aware of it at the time, but I’ve realized later on that his predominant control over my beginning musicianship transcended into my everyday life as well. For that, I revised my own life: I erased every trace of him out of my music sheet and wrote my own notes instead. They didn’t sound as graceful, elaborate, or natural like his own set of notes, but they were MY notes, my own creations, and in the end that was what really mattered.