Je t’aime, mon cher musicien.
Like a symphony carried by the wind.
Whistling soft to the endless harmony.
Like a symphony hard to sing
created in the cords of his guitar.
Do, for the laughs.
La, for the scares.
Sol, for the after,
that we both share.
Singing a capella when he’s gone,
because his voice is like hearing birds at dawn.
And his laughter,
an arpeggio caressing my ear.
Re, for the goodbyes.
Si, for the returns.
And Mi if you want,
to go back home.
A beautiful glissando above the water,
compares to his sweet gaze.
And a perfect pizzicato,
is hidden every time he stares.
Forgetting him is like being out of tone,
and not being able to change.
Like a vibrato you don’t want,
to be in your vocal range
Often in staccato,
our paths crossed.
A tenor or a soprano,
singing both soft.
To the tempo he carries in his veins,
to the voice I was enchanted to meet.
A timeless symphony going on crescendo,
the song of a melodious friendship.