He stood under a bridge and the sound resonated like an applause in my ears. It was a song I knew. Perhaps, the only classical piece I did know but still I felt rather sophisticated and proud to know it. Weather it was the confidence in my own disposition or the cold, for some reason I walked up to that boy and foolishly blundered:.
"Le Cygne?" I asked. Le Cygne. The Swan. A piece from the composed set of Carnival of the Animals by Camille Satin-Saens. Why I knew that I haven't the faintest idea, but then again sometimes all it takes is the right song to change your life. .
"Yes." he said as he turned, still playing the violin tucked under his chin. .
"It is beautiful." .
"Yes, she is." he grinned, his white teeth sprouting out from under his light stubble. .
It's hard to explain the focus that arises when you meet someone you are supposed to love. Someone who was set there for the sole purpose of you to meet. Your vision becomes tunneled. The world is a blur in all your peripheral and all you see is a boy in black, with hair of white wailing on a violin under a bridge in Yekaterinburg. .
As to keep this brief, one thing led to another as they say, rather quickly too. Burning like the brushfire we were we quickly courted, dated, and danced. He smiled. I smiled. We frolicked like lambs and ran like bulls through the city. Partying. Laughing. Learning. Then a night came. It's hard to express touch. To express love. To express the warmth that flutters within you when beside a fire in a small home in Shilovka, with snow piling upon the windows, closing you in for the night, you feel for the first time the touch of your lover's hand. The touch of something calloused and rough course your neck. It sparks energy like a synapse of boisterous content from your loins to the outreaches of our limbs all in one cosmic explosion. Hard to express, but perhaps, not hard to understand if one has once felt the same.
For one year we courted and frolicked in such a manner that would make cherubs of Heaven envious.
