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Journal Entry #463
Sept. 16th 2010
I'm not a musically gifted person. Sure, I like the occasional tune blasting from the radio as I speed home from school, but that's as far as my music appreciation goes. I know it annoys him, but I can't change that, no matter how hard I try. Bach's pieces do little for me other than provide background music for my naps. Beethoven annoys me beyond imagination because he is the one who distracts him. His pieces cause my beloved to ignore my calls, delete my text messages, and cancel our dates last minute. His incredibly hard pieces pull my darling in so deep it's startling he manages to find a way out.
For weeks on end I am left feeling shafted, dismissed, unwanted, and foolish for believing last time was really the last time this would happen. I still love him though. When he manages to forget the grand piano centered pristine in his den [the one I used to lean against the days he used to crave my opinions]; when he remembers how peaceful watching a movie with me curled up in the quilts together, he calls. He apologizes again and again, explains his situation [the pressure, the unending pressure!] and promises to never let it happen again [a promise he constantly breaks] I wonder: when will it stop? When will the lies and utter madness end!
Of course I forgive him. How can I not? I love him; I love the way his honey hair sticks between my fingers when he's napping with his head on my lap [he says he can't sleep unless I'm there; he has the dark circles under his eyes to prove it]. I love how excited he can be but also how his attitude can change in a heart beat. I love how safe I feel when his gargantuan hands tightly grip mine as he pulls me gently in for a kiss.
I love Schroeder with everything I possibly can. But sometimes...I wonder.
Am I dating him or Beethoven?