The French Horn

by Joelle Zima

I flip through websites, eyes half closed with the monotony and the evil of it all. Every page is the same. I skip through my music, searching for something to cover up this sultry mood of mine, this dim lighting and dull thoughts, I swear I’ll never find anything because it all sounds the same and life is the same and college is the same and I don’t know, music isn’t progress its regression and it’s depressing and

 

I stop

Skip back a song

And then everything stops

The homework, the stress, the classwork, the anxiety,

Time itself

It stops because I hear you

I close my eyes

 

I see a large room, dusty with memories, filled to the brim with laughter

I sit tense, unmoving, as you raise your hands and the laughter subsides

 

A single breath

 

The clarinet brushes softly on the canvas, small, light

Blending with the horn, drifting away with a sigh

I look around with a smile

 

The ebbing, moving, delicate beauty, weaving in and around everyone

I meet your eyes and it’s like you can feel it too, in your chest

 

My heart stops as I lift my horn

And every mistake of the day, every awkward moment, every defeat

Flows out of my bell like a breeze

I close my eyes and sway as it sings

 

I look into your eyes

and the music plays on