Me struggling with easy Sonata in G dur by Beethoven: ‘Dolce‘, my piano teacher said, ‘think of velvet’. I know that, after all those years of slightly learning Italian music words. It was just, my fingers did not do what my head told them to do. Stupid organ-playing-past.
Although dolce made me think of so much more soft, playful, kinda Italian summer holidays, the velvet immediately refers to a bit rough, warm and red as blood. O, could I tell you dolce your touching was. And how dolce my heart beat, for somehow my heart is the only thing in me that cannot lie. All this music feels so pleasant, and I kinda subducted while facing your dolce smile.
And soon you run out of dolce-expressions. But I don’t care. From time to time I have to make up my mind and today I realised even more all bad decisions are good ones, as long you don’t regret them. Up to now I don’t regret I said bye-bye to several dolce times. Because somehow I will find myself a substitute, a replacement, and soon or late I won’t even remember all the hurting I’ve accepted and caused…
Dolce you are, love. Unpredictable, reckless, just around the corner, in my dreams and between day and night. Perhaps not invented for me in particular, but as soon as dolce-like honey softens the heart, I just know you have set eyes on me.
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