Emery [bxb]

129

The London concert hall is grand and regal, furnished with brightly-gleaming gold tones. The orchestra is playing so beautifully it gives me goosebumps. The harmony of all those strings and the beauty of the melodies is just chilling. Piano and harp start off Arrival of the Birds, followed by the army of violins, violas and cellos. The stage is cleared for the last song.

The violin soloist looks radiant standing centre-stage in a crisp white shirt, with sky-blue eyes and a halo of blond curls. He's a lean, handsome, broad-shouldered man. He looks like Michelangelo's David. Beautifully sculpted, from the curls on his head to the lean, sinewy form of his body.

His performance is absolutely, out-of-this-world stunning. Intense. Emotional. Beautiful. Maddening. So powerful and fierce I thought he was going to snap a bowstring. It's rivalled only by the performer's angelic beauty.

It's been four years since I've seen him, and Emery takes my breath away. He's so enchanting with his stunning smile. Confidence. Perfect posture. Radiant glow. Sapphire-blue eyes sparkling. He's almost unrecognizable when he's playing.

The way I feel tonight is like that night in high school, the musical, all over again. He was such a delicate boy, and I can still see that in him now. He retained those big, expressive eyes. But he's even more majestically, heart-stoppingly, beautiful now than the pieces he played.