Music is mathematics, really. Way back in ancient Greece, music was dubbed
the highest form of mathematics, and it is, truly. It's notes, time
signatures, scales, octaves, precise calculations and the vibration of sound.
Written down, it can look almost ugly -- black and white, not exciting at all.

And the instruments themselves -- they're calculated, finely designed.
They're beautiful in their own way, each a work of craftmanship, but they're
useless by themselves, dependent on someone else to control the strings or
press the keys. And that someone has to be skilled, because it's so easy to
play a wrong note, and instead of the exquisite melody you want to play, a
banshee's wailing will appear.

It's funny, how something as imperfect as a human being is essential for a
musical piece to be completed. It's impossible for music to be created
without someone directing the instrument in the direction they want it to
play. The instrument is capable of making thousands -- millions -- of
different tunes, but without someone to write the music or to control the
instrument, music would never have been invented in the first place.

And human beings *are* flawed, in a very fundamental manner. It's built into
them -- or us, I should say, because I'm no better than the rest. We're
always searching for something, something to do, something to live for,
someone to love...

In mathematics, an equation like that wouldn't equal up. Another difference.

It's my theory that humans are incomplete by themselves. They need something
to complete themselves. And theyll search until the end of the world to find
it, because no one wants to be incomplete, no one wants to have this terrible
loneliness in their hearts.

I always used to find solace in music, because it was something I could do
when I was alone. No cruel father, no distant mother, no anxious maids
hovering about. It was always just myself and the instrument of my choice.
The music soothed my loneliness, covered open the gaping wound.

But the music was only there because I was always so empty and I could never
find any other way of filling myself up. The music only filled in the gaps, but I
was still always waiting...

And then, just because I played so well, people started listening to me play,
and paying me to play for them, and made me famous. And because my father was
so rich, I quickly escalated up the ranks of musical prodigies.

And now, I have to play music, over and over, and I don't want to play
anymore. I don't want to have to play for those who only want my music for
selfish purposes. I want to play only for myself, only to fill up the
emptiness inside of me. I don't want to have to play for you, or you, or you,
who only favors me to keep up an appearance.

I don't mind playing for her, though. Something about her...maybe it's the
expression on her face when I finish a difficult piece in practice. Maybe
it's her smile. Maybe it's the way she acts, always totally sincere, even
when she's lying. I like it...I like her.

There. I've said it. I don't know why I feel this compulsion to spill my feelings
like this; it doesn't add up. Maybe it's her own natural honesty affecting me.
When I see her, I want...I want...

I feel like I've found the way to become complete.

Surely it's not natural to feel so warm every time she's around me, is it?
Surely it's not healthy to have this compulsion to keep looking at her, is
it? I don't understand it. It doesn't add up.

If I'm not careful, she'll catch on. Will she mind? Will she hate me? Or will
she smile? I'm so conflicted. I can't predict how she'll act. She's the least
predictable person I know, with such a mercurial termperment, short-tempered
and stubborn and very, very...

...cute...

I did not just say that.

But even though she's so capricious, I don't want to hurt her. She's the only person
who treats me naturally, as if I were her friend instead of an icon to be revered. If I
tell her my feelings too prematurely, then she'll be frightened away, and never return
then.

And I have the feeling that, as my love of music slips away daily, I'm going
to need her, as something to complete me. Something to replace the thing
that's filled me for so long. I can't alienate her yet...

It doesn't add up, though, me liking -- loving -- a girl as rude and
inconsiderate as her. Shouldn't I like someone else, more suitable? Or is
love, like music, something that has imperfect people taking part?

I rather hope it does, otherwise I'll never be able to reciprocate.

I guess love doesn't have to add up, after all.