i think that music sometimes is like the bottle of older red
wine that you ordered out to dinner that night with a beautiful woman. she wore a black dress. the hostess put you in the back of the dining room where it was a little darker; they compensated the space with a few more candles strewn around the table. you weren’t sure why the wine was appealing at first, but you ordered it anyway. why even red? maybe something you had learned about it in the past, maybe you’d had it before. some experience, something happened there, in that moment, where you decided to order that old bottle of wine.
when the server brought it to the table, holding it proudly label outward, he uncorked the bottle and poured a small taste for you to sample. you swirled it around a little bit, admiring the burgundy glow through the glass, lit from behind by the fading flame of a small table candle. you were unsure of the smell, fruit and earth. you didn’t hate it, just unsure. raising the glass to your lips you saw her smiling back at you anxiously. her eyes were smiling as well. she also was glowing, through no glass lens, and the candles were merely accents, outshone. oh no. the wine was bitter. you nod anyway, more at the shine of the woman than the wine. the server poured you each a glass.
somewhere over the course of the evening you conversed with the woman. you shared some moments and pieces of conversation that were intimate, they held value. now whether it was the time-lapse or the intoxication of the atmosphere or maybe the wine just had time to breathe. or nothing at all. maybe you were both just drunk. but something happened.
when you reached for the glass the final time, the bottle now empty, you breathed deep. the aroma was different. it was brighter. more alive. the taste, deep. rich. it was good. your date was still shining. the candles had given up and just burned out entirely, they just couldn’t keep up. you stood up and threw your coat around her shoulders. she took your hand and you both walked out of the restaurant, laughing through the door. it was late now. you laughed for a second about the wine. “you know, i really liked it.”
in the space between the first and last taste of wine a change occurred. what developed was an appreciation when none existed before. you finally could relate. maybe it was the conversation. maybe it was the air. maybe it was the girl. you developed along the way. there was something new about you, even after just that brief change of time. “you know, i really liked it.” some things just take time i guess.
i don’t remember where i was going with this.
oh yeah. sometimes music is like a bottle of red wine.