Sapphic Voices General Fiction

She Sang Of Possibilities

I’ve always admired women with musical talent. Maybe it’s the passion of the music. Maybe it’s the time and dedication it took to master the art or the continual effort to grow in her talent. Whether she’s tickling the ivories, mastering those key strokes. The way she pours a bit of herself into every note she plays. Or maybe it’s a guitar that she holds close to her, coddling it as if it were her lover. They stay in perfect rhythm. Her strong hands holding the chords making beautiful music. Her fingers strumming the strings, or perhaps gently finger picking the music, mastering the music flowing from her with her own expression, with her own passion, bearing her soul.

Maybe it has nothing to do with an instrument. I’ve seen women use nothing but their voice. You know what I mean. Haven’t you ever heard a voice that just takes you in? It doesn’t matter were you are or who you are with, you just have to stop and you become mesmerized by the pure beauty of what is passing her lips. You find yourself staring uncontrollably. You watch her lips as each note passes them. They engulf you, reach out and swallow you up as if someone came by and put a bubble around you. Everything just fades into the background, it’s all a blur. All there is in this world is the three of you: you, her, and her voice. You are captivated, and you’re not even sure you are remembering to breath. Her song continues, and you are certain she is singing to you.

I guess maybe it was a combination of these things that captivated me. I was taken in by the way she master both the piano and guitar. When she sang, she brought me to another place. A clam peaceful place, filled with warmth and passion. She had just finished the last song in her set when our eyes met once again. I watched as the soft supple corners of her mouth begin to rise, just the hint of a smile on her lips. I could see it building in her eyes. Her eyes just burn through me as a fire. I don’t know what to do, should I say something? No, she up on stage, she wouldn’t hear me anyway. But she feels so close to me. Should I smile? Wave? Or just let my eyes tell her, let them tell her she has touched me and I will never be the same.

Somehow she finds me in the crowd. She would hear me if I spoke now. But what do I say? How do I articulate how she has transformed me, how she has touched my very soul. My skin starts to tingle, and I forget to breath. She comes closer and all I hear is my heart, trying to pound it’s way out of my chest. Then heaven opens it’s doors and welcomes me in, as she simply says, “ Hello.”

If you have enjoyed L.F. Blanchard's "She Sang Of Possibilities", then please be certain to e-mail her at  LFBlanchard[at]charter.net  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of L.F. Blanchard's  Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.

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