Once upon a time, I danced
to a different kind of tune;
he sat at my piano, fingers
dancing 'Clair de Lune'.
He wooed me with Debussy
and entranced me with Ravel;
against my better judgement
well... I fell, I fell, I fell.

Once upon a time, he wrote me
songs to win my heart-
full of deep crescendos and
a dozen different parts.
I loved him like a symphony
that soared inside my brain,
and I loved him, how I loved him,
and his music kept me sane.

-The only sound I ever made
was that of a closing door.
Love will forever remind me
of his solemn, heartfelt chords.
The boy, he played with everything,
each corner of his soul;
too consumed by harmonies
to fix the hearts he stole.

Once upon a time he sang
me soothing lullabies,
and I'd sit there for hours
'til I had them memorised.
He never made proposals,
never promised me the world;
he wrapped me up in music
as his melodies unfurled.

Once upon a time I danced
to a different melody.
He loved his Rachmaninov
yet barely noticed me;
as music held him together
it was tearing me apart.
I was just a teenage muse,
and music had his heart.

-Now a few months later,
I hear that same old tune;
remembering my first love as he
played me 'Clair de Lune'.
He wowed me with Einaudi
but I lost him as he played;
like a diminuendo- soft
and silent, I would fade.

Once upon a time, he wrote
a piece and named it 'she'-
but music was the subject;
he no longer wrote for me.
He played it to me prettily
and finished with a grin,
but finally I wondered how
I'd come to dote on him.

Once upon a time, I wrote
a song for him to try;
it seemed the only way
I could convey my long 'goodbye'.
Sometimes I hope he wonders;
that he notices I'm gone...
but deep, deep down, I know he won't.
The music still plays on.