6271. elegant

Dear Stacy,

​No soothing so serene as sweet music swelling, the ear bathed in sound, bliss-laden. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, so the poet sang.

​Nineteen sixty-five: first sight of you. Those tender digits gliding, ivory-caressers, light upon the black and white keys, drawing soul from wood and wire.

​The stage now bare, silent boards, but that scarlet gown—crimson perfection draped upon your form.

​A soft-spoken promise. Thank you for that murmured yes, I will, yes.

​Ever yours,

Matthew