Music is mathematics, really. Way back in ancient Greece, music was dubbed the highest form of mathematics, and it is, truly. It's notes, time signatures, scales, octaves, precise calculations and the vibration of sound. Written down, it can look almost ugly -- black and white, not exciting at all.
And the instruments themselves -- they're calculated, finely designed. They're beautiful in their own way, each a work of craftmanship, but they're useless by themselves, dependent on someone else to control the strings or press the keys. And that someone has to be skilled, because it's so easy to play a wrong note, and instead of the exquisite melody you want to play, a banshee's wailing will appear.
It's funny, how something as imperfect as a human being is essential for a musical piece to be completed. It's impossible for music to be created without someone directing the instrument in the direction they want it to play. The instrument is capable of making thousands -- millions -- of different tunes, but without someone to write the music or to control the instrument, music would never have been invented in the first place.
And human beings *are* flawed, in a very fundamental manner. It's built into them -- or us, I should say, because I'm no better than the rest. We're always searching for something, something to do, something to live for, someone to love...
In mathematics, an equation like that wouldn't add up. Another difference.
It's my theory that humans are incomplete by themselves. They need something to complete themselves. And theyll search until the end of the world to find it, because no one wants to be incomplete, no one wants to have this terrible loneliness existing in their hearts.
I always used to find solace in music, because it was something I could do when I was alone. No cruel father, no distant mother, no anxious maids hovering about. It was always just myself and the instrument of my choice. The music soothed my loneliness, covered open the gaping wound.
But the music was only there because I was always so empty and I could never find any other way of filling myself up. The music only filled in the gaps, but I was still always waiting...
And then, just because I played so well, people started listening to me play, and paying me to play for them, and made me famous. And because my father was so rich, I quickly escalated up the ranks of musical prodigies.
And now, I have to play music, over and over, and I don't want to play anymore. I don't want to have to play for those who only want my music for selfish purposes. I want to play only for myself, only to fill up the emptiness inside of me. I don't want to have to play for you, or you, or you, the one who only favors me to keep up an appearance.
I don't mind playing for her, though. Something about her...maybe it's the expression on her face when I finish a difficult piece in practice. Maybe it's her smile. Maybe it's the way she acts, always totally sincere, even when she's lying. I like it...I like her.
There. I've said it. I don't know why I feel this compulsion to spill my feelings like this; it doesn't add up. Maybe it's her own natural honesty affecting me. When I see her, I want...I want...
I feel like I've found the way to become complete.
Surely it's not natural to feel so warm every time she's around me, is it? Surely it's not healthy to have this compulsion to keep looking at her, is it? I don't understand it. It doesn't add up.
If I'm not careful, she'll catch on. Will she mind? Will she hate me? Or will she smile? I'm so conflicted. I can't predict how she'll act. She's the least predictable person I know, with such a mercurial termperment, short-tempered and stubborn and very, very...
...cute...
I did not just say that.
But, even though she's so capricious, I don't want to hurt her. She's the only person who treats me naturally, as if I were her friend instead of an icon to be revered. If I tell her my feelings too prematurely, then she'll be frightened away, and never return them.
And I have the feeling that, as my love of music slips away daily, I'm going to need her, as something to complete me. Something to replace the thing that's filled me for so long. I can't alienate her yet...
It doesn't add up, though, me liking -- loving -- a girl as rude and inconsiderate as her. Shouldn't I like someone else, more suitable? Or is love, like music, something that has imperfect people taking part?
I rather hope it does, otherwise I'll never be able to participate.
I guess love doesn't have to add up, after all.