March 29, 2013

Classical Piece of the Week: Valse Sentimentale


As she peers out the window, a cloud of fog swarms near her view, leaving the objects of her sight mere shadows. She turns herself around, back in the vision of her cozy room, and with her wrinkled fingers, she carefully picks out a disc from her classical collection. It has been a long time since this one has been played, she thought, as she gently blows off the dust that had settled on the disc. Valse Sentimentale by Ptyor IIyich Tchaikovsky, were the words engraved on the label. 

With great gentleness, she places the disc onto the phonograph, and positions the needle onto the former. And a few wobbly turns of the handle later, the disc starts to revive. First, with a sharp, raspy sound, until soothing strokes of a harp can be perceived through the haziness. Then, the slightly wavering, but oh so alluring melody of a violin drowns off all other sounds, and even the lighted candles in the room seem to be swaying to the beautiful valse. 

She sighs, and unleashes herself on the nearest couch. With one side of her face gently cupped in her hand, a part of her separates from herself, and it dances to the nearest ballroom. 

She is leaning on his shoulder, their feet weaving to the melody of the piece. It seems like the torment was only a few moments ago, but it is nearly forgotten, as the music is lively and she is with him. With him. He brushes off a wisp of her shining chestnut hair off of her young and glowing face, and looks piercingly into her eyes. She looks back, the glimmer of her eyes acting as her smile. Then, she closes them, wanting to stay like this forever, but she is too late. The music has gone awfully blue, and she's trying to grasp her hand in his, but she can't, she can't, and their fingers separate, separate... And everything around her is spinning, spinning and detaching, just like her heart. 

Startingly, she opens her eyes. Those eyes that have held so many tears, so much pain. Those eyes that were too weak to keep the tears, the pain, and were forced to unleash them into the rest of her body. 

Just as she finishes regaining her awareness, the pieces winds up softly, until only the cracklings of the disc and the steady voice of the violin can be heard. 

Until only her weeping heart, 

                     her weeping heart, 

Can be distinguished from the silence.

 

6 comments:

  1. That. was. beautiful! Not just the piece but the story that you put behind it. I felt the passion you have for music in it. You would be a great writer someday if you choose to be ^__^ (I am not saying that because I feel obliged to. I really mean it.)

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    1. Thank you so much Lottie! I'm glad you enjoyed all of it. To be honest, I just kind of started writing (technically typing), and this idea just starting growing, and before I knew, I was writing a story!

      -Grace :)

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  2. Completely agreed with Lottie! It was gorgeous and I love the story too. You really have a thing for both writing and music, Grace :)
    Can't wait for your next post :)

    -Annie

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    1. Thanks a ton Annie! I guess when you really love something it reflects a little (or a lot) in your writing!

      Thanks for the lovely comment!

      -Grace :)

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  3. You're story was gorgeous, Grace! I am agreeing with both Annie and Lottie! Your posts are always so thoughtful and the song choices you pick seem like you pick them out very thoughtful as to how it will appeal to your readers.

    You are always very thoughtful just as your genuinely amazing posts. ^^

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    1. Thank you so much Delaney! Guess I'm kind of a thoughtful person, eh? And I'm glad these pieces appeals to you as a reader, that is my pure intention!

      Thank you for the comment, and listening to my piece!

      -Grace :)

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Hi! If you are here, I'm assuming that you've just read my post. If yes, don't hesitate on leaving a quick comment, I truly do appreciate each and every single one of them!

-Grace :)

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