” I sent you a midi”, he says. It’s almost 4am and he knows I’m starting my day. “The song’s almost done”.
He yawns, grabs my pillow, and shifts onto the warm spot I left. I slip my clothes on in the dark. He’ll soon be back asleep.
He mangles the name of the song, making me puzzle over what song he means. I’ve no idea why he finds this amusing, but he does. I want coffee.
“Why do you do that to song titles?”, I say, fumbling for apron and glasses. I know he’s grinning and thinks it’s cute. Maybe I’ll get why this is entertaining after some coffee, but I doubt it.
He’s working on a new arrangement for me. These are his loving gifts, Valentines that come from deep in his heart, and always have, since we first met. You can hear it in the music. I hear even more. They are the secret language of our love. Unlike the other band arrangements he does, always so great, those intended for me to sing are expressions of his love and unique understanding of what I bring to a song. As if undressing me gently, he exposes my soul in the music as only he can.
I have not one moment’s wish, and never have, for the usual romantic tokens. He knows presenting flowers or gifts will bring an awkward response at best. I may even scold him for wasting money. Heaven knows, I’m handy enough around the house and I don’t need much help with all that, either. But the gift of his talent, a song, lovingly arranged, is enthusiastically appreciated always. I will swoon. Melt. He knows this, and is beyond pleased.
Then, with all my joy and love, I get to pass it on to you. Music is the language of love, as you know. And maybe now you know a bit more. It’s not really possible to put into words how very true this is for us. Maybe you can hear it in the music. From Doc, to me, to you. Even with mangled titles.
I’ll be singing those love songs and swingin’ the dance tunes with the Imperial Palms on New Years Eve. Hope I get to sing some to you❤️
Here’s the link for tickets: