Not Another Love Song

by Julie Soto

And instead he hit the record button on his music writing software and picked up his bow. When he was done, when it was out of him, he clicked save. The computer asked him what to call it. He didn’t want to title it yet, but the file needed a name. He typed: Not a Love Song. And he believed it for a few weeks.

“What’s the tempo?” she asked. He looked up from her fingers and blinked a few times. “There isn’t one. The piece… doesn’t exist yet. Do what feels natural to you.” He swallowed, and he held her eyes as he said, “Don’t worry. It’s not a love song.”

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but—” “Anything.” Black eyes looked down on her, and he took a shaking breath. “Everything.”

“If you don’t want to be with me, together with me, I can understand,” he said, and she felt her knees wobble. “But, Gwen, please make music with me. I need you in my life. I need to be in your orbit in some way, and if you don’t want me to touch you and kiss you and fuck you, then let me make love to you onstage every night because it’s the most alive I’ve felt in ten years—”

“It’s simple, really,” he said. “It’s about a cello who fell in love with a violin.”