Disconnected

I love to hear him play you know. There's something in the way the notes blend together, and more importantly, in the way you blend yourself into the music. I love to feel the vibrations in the air, and to watch him... to feel him in the air. He doesn't understand why that's what I say that I love about him the most. If only he could see himself the way that I do when he plays. He is confident. He is strong. He is everything that he is when he plays, and yet there is so much more he can be. Even I can't explain the wonder I feel when he plays. How he draws me in, and makes my heart and soul stir. If only he could see through my eyes, feel through my skin.
He didn't play as he usually does. He had mistakes even I could recognize, and the sound was dead... I didn't feel. Of course as usual he was pleasant to listen to, and how entertaining. It was still enjoyable, but something was different and I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand what it could have been. I could feel that he and I had been tense. Was his lack of feeling my own fault? Did I do something to kill his music? True he played the music well... but it wasn't his music. It was... music. Though nothing near his.
I chase after him. I ask him to play for me. Classical music. No accompaniment. Just him.
It was beautiful. To follow the notes. I could feel him again. I could feel his nervousness, and yet in that he threw himself into the music. It was beautiful. I didn't even notice as the people came towards us and played.
I wish he could throw himself into his emotions like that all the time. It's never good to disconnect yourself.