"i will follow while you're singing my soul to sleep" - voices on the verge

fingers move like lightening along strings, careful concentration vying with sure satisfaction on his face, and the music fills the room, the room stretches to hold it, notes spinning through my spine and down my limbs, and i close my eyes and smile. listening to his music is like watching his mind transcribed in air.

you don't have to go to the concert, he says.
it won't be very good,
he says.

i'm going, i say.
oh, i'm going.