The first one felt right, there was nothing deeper considered, just that feeling that now, I know, anyone might have provided but then, it was something in a world of nothing.
The second, really, was certainly right, for life this time, the wisdom of a single failure enough to ensure success, and when it came apart thirty years later, it was apparent it was never right, just more than nothing.
This one is right, for it does not require feeling so, merely being in her presence, a completeness I never knew, which explains why this time nothing can get in the way of the ultimate everything.
I want so to say that i feel your pain, but we’d both know that was an utter lie.
I can tell you abut my pain, describe it at great length, and I will be utterly disappointed when you admit you can only imagine it as a reflection of your own pain, which I am certain doesn’t begin to rise to the level of mine, but that is your failure, and I will forgive it for I know that my pain is unique and beyond even your imagination.
So let us just agree that each of our pains is beyond the contemplation of the other, secure in our own uniqueness.
Today was perfectly ordinary which is how I would have my days and how they so seldom agreed to be. I did pause and look at the Yamaha keyboard and remembered that when the Court of the Empress Theresa rejected Mozart, he attended the symphonies of Haydn as a form of consolation. That reminds me that I, once, played the piano not particularly well, but with what my teacher said was a great depth of feeling. Haydn, who I love to this day, had nothing to do with my quitting, it was Handel and his Largo from his opera Xerxes that was my undoing, a burden to large for my smallish hands to bear. I did find a recording of the Largo and listening, gazed at my hands, and for a moment I wondered if they might just have finally grown sufficiently large.