Soft, yet powerful,
a faint echo of our song pulses
to a beat that time cannot recall,
reverberating through my mind
to remind me that you were always there,
but never to listen.

Its calm lyrics are unclear, yet I shiver
as they crescendo
and your forte
has just become a fortissimo
that drowns out the fragile quivering of my mezzo piano.

Back and forth, side by side
our harmonies clash and weave
but never sound just right,
like the composer couldn't decide
on a single tune to reside on.

As it nears the double bars
it slows to a soft, poignant ritard
that finishes in a long-held fermata;
but then our song returns to its beginning phrase
as if it ends in a neverending repeat.
And its soft, powerful, pulsing beat
follows along to the metronome of my heart.