Faithfully unfaithful


This is the second post in the “Murmure dans le vent” series. This post will be showcasing the third movement in Tchaikovsky’s “Serenade for strings” in C Major. I know I sort of cheated (jumping the second movement), BUT you know how the muse is… she eluded the second movement & something just clicked with the third one. Fret not, my dear reader! The second movement will come soon.

Green with yellow spots bile spews over the cream-stained wall as the brown coated man moans a curse. “Should have called a taxi” mutters Chris to himself, looking away from the alley and walks toward the dark streets…”Why? Why is this so hard? Why is hard to forget you?” Chris ponders as he fists his gray trenchcoat jogging towards his apartment fighting the stinging in his eyes.

Aching, Chris closes the apartment door and curses when as he hits the floor shaking. Clutching his phone he fees it vibrate. He rubs his hands in denial. “No. Not now. Not like this. Please. Not him. Not now.” he whispers hoarsely to nobody. Dum dum. Dum dum. Dum Dum. “Can somebody stop those drums!” Chris shouts. Nobody answers. He can’t listen to his phone ringing, but he feels it vibrating in his left hand. Trying to calm down, he lifts his phone and reads the notification. The drums beat faster. Louder. The phone starts ringing. That face in the phone beside his own reminds him what his happiness is and how much he wants it back. Shivering he answers. “-lo?” “I’m outside your door. Are you there? I want. I want to talk to you. If. If you want I -” Chris opens the door before he finishes that sentence . “I must control myself. He just wants to talk. No biggie. Just like old ties” Chris says to himself. “I. I’m sorry. I’ve been an asshole.” He says to Chris while lowering his phone from his ear. “I thought you were unfaithful. It’s funny. You haven’t cheated on me, but it feels like it. You sometimes don’t talk to me, and when you do… when you do all you talk is about her. I just get the feeling that she’s more important than what we have-had” He said rushed and tries to breathe.

“You can come inside, you  know. You always can. You do have a key. I told you since I moved in. This is your second home… It doesn’t matter if we’re…” Chris whispers softly. Mustering up courage from nowhere Chris closes the distance. “She, as you call her, is my job. She is not who I love. Who I love is you. Always had. Always will. Even if you walk out on this… Chris moves his hands between them and cradles Brandon’s hand with his own. I’ll still love you.” Chris closes the distance chastely brushing his lips with Brandon’s. “You are all I have. All I will have. The most important thing I have is you.” Silence fills the living room. Lights dim. Chris leaves Brandon’s hands and feels suddenly very self-conscious. “Well? What… What do you think? Chris voice cracks looking at Brandon with glassy eyes.

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About theartofmusicalpoetry

I'm Jose Clavell, graduate student at Western Illinois University. Pontifical Catholic University of Puerto Rico alumni. Choral Conductor, Spanish teacher writer, foodie, and a blogger.

Posted on July 8, 2013, in Music, Musical, Musical Poetry, Poetry/ Literature, Short Story and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. obliviouspoison

    I want to have the books in my hands already….

  2. jejeje Well… I would love to publish a book…

  1. Pingback: Dance for me | The art of musical poetry

  2. Pingback: Un nouveau départ | The art of musical poetry

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