Fred Ballinger

Children, don't know their parents ordeals. Sure, they know certain details, striking elements. And they know what they need to know to be on one side or the other. They don't know that I trembled the first time I ever saw you on stage. All the orchestra behind my back were laughing at my falling in love. And my unexpected fragility. They don't know that you sold of your mother's jewellery in order to help me with my second piece. When everyone else was turning me down calling me presumptuous inelegant musician. They don't know that you too, and you were right that you thought I was a presumptuous, inelegant musician at that time. And you cried so hard. Not because you sold you mother's jewellery but because you sold your mother. They don't know that we were together. You and I. Despite all the exhaustion, and the pain, and hardship. Melanie. They must never know that you and I despite everything liked to think of ourselves as a simple song.

I'm wondering what happens to your memory over time. I can't remember my family. I don't remember their faces or how they talked. Last night I was watching Lena while she was asleep. And I was thinking about all the thousands of little things that I done for her as her father. And I done them deliberately so that she would remember them. When she grows up. But in time. She won't remember a single thing.

Well, because it's so vulnerable. You eliminate one person. And all of a sudden. The whole world changes. Like in a marriage.

You were right. Music is all I understand.

We only ever told each other the good things.

Well, he once said intellectuals had no taste. And from that moment on, I did everything I could not to become an intellectual. And I succeeded.

Levity is an irresistible temptation.

I don't know what the problem is. But I'm not going to try and cheer you up by lying. Or talk about things I never knew about.

You won't fool me. I know you can't levitate.

I waited till visiting hours to come and see you. They don't know, Melanie. The children don't know their parents ordeals. Sure, they know certain details, striking elements. And they know what they need to know to be on one side or the other. They don't know that I trembled the first time I ever saw you on stage. And that the orchestra behind my back was laughing at my falling in love. And my unexpected fragility. They don't know that you sold of your mother's jewellery in order to help me with my second piece, when everyone else was turning me down, calling me a presumptuous, inelegant musician. I think they don't know that you too, and you were right that you thought I was a presumptuous, inelegant musician at that time. And you cried so hard. Not because you sold you mother's jewellery, but because you sold your mother. They don't know that we were together, you and I, despite all the exhaustion, and the pain, and the hardship. Melanie, they must never know that you and I, despite everything, liked to think of ourselves as "A Simple Song."Look at me.

Because levity is also a perversion.