If I could write a song, it would be for you. Every crescendo an argument, every rest contentment. Fermatas that tell the story of our love and how we thought it would never end and conductors that decided we were wrong. The chorus would never get the chance to breathe, if only because I’ve never been able to with you. The symphony would fluctuate, in and out, in and out with every breath you took and every beat of your heart. Long drawn, minor keyed legatos would paint pictures of our downfalls while tiny accidentals would prove that we can solve them together. If I could write a song, parts of it would be syncopated. The notes would be skipping, not just running. They would be laughing and smiling and crying and doing everything I wish I could do with you. But mezzo piano knows. It knows how far away you are, how muffled my joy can be. If I could write a song, every black mark, every line every bit of white space and every single joule spent would be for you. I would write it to see you smile, to see you be happy. I only want you to be happy. You deserve it more than anyone I know.