You are my singing soulmate. I gazed at you from above, knees pressed against the balcony, arms gripping the velvety ledge, completely submerged in your story. I would compare my experience to becoming one with your fantasy, except that would imply unreal or imaginative characteristics and we both know that our interaction was anything but unrealistic, though it was no doubt whimsical. This reality can be justified not only by my tears, but the downpour that came from those around me as we were consumed by your contagious emotion and articulate orchestra. I found myself taking separate moments to experience each of your players: the actors, the musicians, and the facility both visually and aurally. I stopped for an instant halfway through to close my eyes and listen to you in all of your parts, truly listen, without the barrier of my sight. This is why you had the affects you did and why they are still lingering on. You spoke in words no one else can produce.
With three keys I saw how a pianist could move the stage from one sentiment to another or how a crowd could transform into a community over the understanding that we were all tingling with the same ambience.
Your conclusion left me speechless, unable to explain my slowly streaming sobs that trickled down my face. In fact, reliving this connection brings up a reaction I am forced to push down in an attempt to be sensible about it all. (Goodness, I am actually laughing audibly at myself and this baffling interaction and my utopian-like description of my relationship with you and the fact that it was so unreal in nature but unbelievably real in reality that I am left to use this ridiculous list of words to try and explain this)
Thank you for showing me the most moving performance I have ever seen in my entire life.
You are my musical lover & I will never forget you.
Like Victor Hugo said, “Those who do not weep, do not see.”
I heard you sing and I watched the flowers grow.
Riley Makenna
Compass 