To the Left

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To the Left

He looked to his left as the music swelled. For the briefest moment, it was like she was there again. Her smile lifting up both the dimples of her rosey cheeks and his mood. A crescendo of leaping violins raising his eyes past the empty chair and into a brief moment of fantasy. She turned towards him, full smile radiating warmth like the sun; child-like wonder dancing across the lights reflected in her eyes.

The cello pushed through the ground, it's deep resonance turning the earth to roiling grass as the vision was injected with loneliness. Mimicking his hand outstretching towards her, the bass instruments clung to the lofty ethers of the strings and tried to pull them down. As the bedrock collapsed under and he fell farther down, the light tunes of the flute fluttered over him. Their rays bringing a smile to his face even as the thunder of timpani rocked him to and fro.

Clear and pure, the lather of the french horn roared as the sun over head, its golden hue bathing the road in front of him. A path up appeared as the cellos and bass slowed, steps raising from the ground as the plucking of the violins nipped at his heels. Eager, they drove him upward, toward the vision in front of him. The music of his heart swelling as the white dress swirled in front of him as his love turned her head. Hands meeting, their fingers interlaced just as the melody broke away and—he was alone again in the concert hall. Despite the mass of people sitting in raptured captivity nearby, the seat next to him was empty and he bowed his head and cried.

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