You is some song
He thinks love is music, climbing up and down the scales, gathering fervor and then declining into cadences. Georg cannot feel love until he memorizes Prelude in C Sharp Minor and so he sits at the piano, day and night, waiting for love to bloom from the smooth white keys and cold brass petals. Thea passes by outside, waves, scrunching her pretty face into that gummy smile but he will only glance up and then go back to the minor triads he hates and adores and wishes he could exude quite as easily as his beautiful teacher. Oh why can he not lay back and let his fingers dance so skillfully as he has seen her do ones thousand times before? So he he practices and let the notes consume him until he can fall in love again.