Lying on my Couch

I lay here contemplating my day, and days to come.  Images of the fabric of things swirl in my head, not quite forming together into the tapestry I know they make when combined correctly.  My mind drifts.  Then I hear the first few piano notes.  Without opening my eyes, I see you playing there just behind the back of the couch.  It is soft at first, conveying a shyness I would not have expected, as if further invitation were necessary.  I wriggle into the couch a little more as the pieces of the tapestry fall to the floor, and I sink into the sound.  The notes begin to get bolder, I can feel your fingers pressing into the keys now, each press more deliberate than the last.  I smile as the fabric on the floor begins to shake a bit, sometimes fluttering into the air, to the rhythm of your song.  The tempo changes now, as a story begins to come more into focus.  It is one of cryptic beckoning, and rather than just shuddering, the pieces lift and float now, seeming to dance in my mind as I find myself both watching and listening with complete and equal focus.  Rather than splitting or distracting, each half augments and spurs on the whole, and I remember that some time ago I invited you to listen in on moments such as these, an invitation that would not be revoked, and certainly not now.  I accept the symphony and the pieces begin to move toward each other.  They dance now with each vibration in the strings, which I can see as well as hear, deep within the wooden chamber.  I find myself distracted for a moment, mind's eye wandering to the player.  I find myself staring at your lips as everything else starts to fade and I wonder why I don't allow myself to remain distracted here indefinitely.  Just then, you smirk, as if you saw what was on my mind, and the tempo changes for a moment to mirror the emotion.  I find the two of us elsewhere now, entangling here as you continue to play there.  I am consumed, we are entangled, locked in an intimate dance.  In this state, threads all around me unravel, but without thought even more sew together.  The mindless and primal state you have pulled me into inexplicably augments my ability to conjure a complete tapestry, while equally stripping my intention to do so.  Then this image fades, and I realize I have been staring at your mouth this whole time, now mouthing words, inaudibly sounding like both "hello" and "goodbye," "I'm sorry" and "please."  I remember that somewhere forgotten I am doing this for a reason, a huge reason deeper than any one life could hope to contain, much less achieve.  I remember why we both left as we did, and why our reconciliation has been so painfully delayed for me.  It is like trying to remember a dream though, one that has embedded itself in memory, but of a scene that has left only the kiss of emotion.  A wave of frustration washes over me, I want to stand from the couch and sit beside you, adding the notes my fingers know will complete the song and end this phase for good.  I glance up in defiance and for a moment our eyes meet, and time slows as it always does.  I see the notes reflect now in the sparkle in your eyes, a pleading not to quit, married with a restrained desire for me to do exactly that.  I can tell your resolve is coming undone, as you fight to remain on your side.  I take a deep breath, both from the piano and the couch, and shut my eyes to focus once more on the tapestry.  This time I go to move the pieces to find that many of them have already come together.  The notes have slowed now, your tension resonating through them in darkened hues, as you eagerly wait for me to finish my work, the heat rising off of the bench.  

You seem to remember something, and your song shifts to one that aligns my mind perfectly to the task at hand, with a volume to match.  This was not the first time we sat like this, strategizing through mysterious methods on how to save the world, and the song now is like a flag planted firmly in a time when we both shared a glimmer of hope at our first successful attempt at communicating as if we were in the same room.  I remember the crowd, absent here, but always present in my mind and yours.  The tapestry shifts to one without edges.  Not just here, but everywhere fluid, one pocket threading to another, each connects to each of the rest.  The image, no longer on the surface but now imbued in the entirety of the thing, comes into view, unmistakably correct, a masterpiece from all angles.  The continuation of the shape is matched in tempo and complexity by your song, each note now a seed, every move the first line of another story.  I feel a part of me flowing through the entire thing, memorizing every curve and leaving an indelible mark wherever it does, to the enchanting melody emanating from your fingertips.  I stay here as long as I can, realizing this was the eternal refrain we have been toiling and conspiring to finish for so long leading up to this moment that now echoes through all of time, space, and every little nook and cranny once excluded from the whole.  All the while, thoughts of curves and fingertips grow in intensity, and just before leaping from where I lay to cry surrender, I open my eyes and you have separated yourself from the piano, now shimmying around the arm of the couch.  The song has not stopped, in fact it seems to be playing you in, as you dance your way over to me, bouncing your shoulders up and down in a coyly smug fashion.  "Don't you dare bring that sassy nonsense over here!"  I exclaim with a smile and laugh.  You continue unabated and sit on the cushion opposite mine, before scooching over until your thighs touch the soles of my feet.