Sometimes, when the window is open, I close my eyes and pretend the urban cars (as they whiz by...zoom...zoom) are waves that I hear as I sleep in the sand while a cool breeze blows against my naked chest because (and for no other reason than) that is the sound that I saw in your eyes so long ago. It reminds me that Love (whatever that is) once existed.
The first movement of a sonata is fast and exciting, but will leave you unfulfilled. Then the second movement is harrowing....slow and depressing...when the audience becomes disdainful and violent because they are filled with Hate--death, sickness, and heartbreak--and you beckon, Please, Please, let me return to the first movement, when my soul rested in her beach eyes. Hell is a never-ending second movement, where Love's variation is only melancholy, misanthropy, despair.
The reason the first movement leaves you unfulfilled is because this theme (Love) is delusional without the second variation! Hence the triumphant return of this theme, with a resolved variation that (for those who did not kill themselves during that devil middle) feels whole, complete, forgiven. It is only at the end of the third and final movement that those still-breathing individuals understand and appreciate the second movement so they stand to cheer and applaud, screaming, My Soul Rests, My Soul Rests, and the sight of the sound of ocean waves in your eyes becomes a fading memory against the sight of the sound of ocean waves that I experience presently as the orchestra hits its destined note. Finale.