WAITING

FOR

String Quartet / / Saxophone Quartet 

AUTHOR'S

NOTE //

Sometimes love can be brilliant. The kind of love you read about in novels, distinct and overwhelming, like summiting a mountain, flushing your life with a color and a vibrancy you never might’ve known it was missing, enveloping you in some momentary, ecstatic bliss. But that’s rarely how I’ve come to know it.

To me, love often feels more like crawling under a heavy blanket in a cold room. A warmth in a darkness. Never bursting into flame but glowing and glowing and glowing. Blossoming in the quietest moments of adoration, in a tender smile or the brush of a cheek. The kind of promise that you cling to at night, for the fear of the knowledge that it might not always be there. The kind of promise that you huddle all the closer to, with the inexpressible catharsis that, for the moment, it is. Love that you feel as much in its absence as you do in its presence.

This piece is about the latter.

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