Performing tonight.
It's getting colder. I'm getting used to a different kind of chill.
Damp air that gets inside, doesn't like to shake loose. Different than where I'm from.
Not bad. Just an adjustment.
I love this place.
A creative haven on a beautiful island.
I know this setting intimately.
Inside, the venue is warm with the smiles and closed eyes of those in attendance.
I feel that fire inside.
The show starts off well.
There's just something about tonight.
You can feel it.
Positive energy and positive feedback.
Something is building as I continue to play.
The night moves on.
Couples slowly stand, move to the side, begin to dance in subtle rhythms together.
The cafe transforms into a ballroom made from dim yellow light, and the sounds of a single guitar..
All rhythm and heartbeats.
Just as sacred as the sex of the soulbound,
Just as powerful as the heartsick words written anonymously on a faded concrete wall.
The music changes of its own accord to accommodate.
Songs become longer, rewrite themselves.
My heart beats faster.
At times there is more urgency,
More speed,
Like the fluttering heartbeat of that love struck boy dancing with his desire
for the first time.
The dancers sway and move, not anticipating the next note, but guiding and dictating the music's path with their bodies.
So beautiful.
I can no longer separate the idea of me from melody.
We were defining and being defined by the music.
So very beautiful.
Later that evening I would meet a woman.
A brief moment of star-watching,
of greetings and goodbyes.
Whirlwind introductions and
Quicker exits.
It wouldn't work out.
In a quiet moment, the memory of this would help me finish a song.
There is some solace in that.
I wonder if she was just another ghost,
Come to haunt me for a short time
Before disappearing back into the ether.
Next day.
Different city.
Afternoon performance during a pretty Fall day.
Color is everywhere.
Cars racing by, people walking and chatting.
The bustle of a busy city on a beautiful day.
The venue is part of another world.
Walk in, and close the door behind me.
The sound of the city instantly disappears.
It is cozy here, intimate.
Peaceful.
The scent of aged woods and strong coffee permeates everything.
Afternoon light delicately peeking through old glass windows.
So very peaceful.
Calm is everywhere but in me.
It's not frantic or electrifying.
It's not so obvious.
Today the chaos feels like a slow burn.
This performance would be different than the night before.
My interactions with the audience would be quieter, more subdued, maybe even shy, but
I would play like something inside me was quietly demanding to spill it's secrets.
If left unchecked, even this smallest of peasant-voices would demand an audience with the (heart) royalty that always seems to rule my brains.
I fall into the color of melodies as I play.
Children are smiling. Happy parents laugh with them.
Content couples are pointing to the guitarist who "makes the flowers fall from his fingertips".
I loved hearing that description.
I'm holding it in.
At least I think I am.
Not for long.
Something is building in me.
The afternoon progresses.
More people in attendance now.
The mood is changing.
Swirling beauty in a soft setting, but now with that dark tinge and taint that reminds me of stolen kisses in a graveyard.
Still lovely, but with the subtle allure that the mysterious always brings.
A song finishes itself in an unexpected way.
I like where it ended.
I look up.
A woman near the back of the room is now crying.
I see her lips mouth the words "beautiful".
Begin to feel a bit better.
I offered them a little beauty.
They gave me so much release.
I think I received the better part of this deal.
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