The stuff that moves you.

The two share a kiss. Not overdoing it, they are in a church after all, but they aren't holding back. They are in love, and now they can be in love forever. Nothing is stopping them. Nothing would've stopped them anyways, but it's tradition. Now, well now all they have is each other. That's all they want, and that's all they need.

***

The man stroked his snowy hair, unintentionally slicking it back with the sweat that had been accumulating. He furrowed his brow, forcing his eyes to shut as he took a deep breath that shook his entire body. His right hand was so focused on his left, absolutely refusing to let it go. Finally something compelled him, and he put his trembling hand back on the conducing wand he had released when the memories came back to him.

The entire room was silent. Even the sick girl, who hadn't stopped coughing since she set foot in the orchestral room, refused to make a sound. They were waiting. They weren't sure what exactly for, but they knew they had to wait, for however long, the just needed to wait.

He picked up the wand again, waved it, and the room filled with noise. The hitting of bows on strings. The tuning of A flats to A naturals. The resonance of a broken man replaced by the cacophony of an eager symphony.

Like a wizard preforming a spell, the man waved his wand and instead of noise, or silence, there was beauty. The sounds of cellos and basses and violins filled the once dismal room. Everyone was stuck in the moment. The only thing keeping movement in existence was the music. Music is the stuff that moves you.

Suddenly the snow-haired man yielded to a force greater than the music. The wand fell to the floor,  and silence filled the room again. Something within him wasn't there anymore and the room kept waiting.

Tears began to trickle down the man's face, getting caught in the lines that represented the years they were together. The creases from laughing too hard at nothing and the wrinkles from a shared history that brought the cruelest mixture of joy and pain. A mixture that he would not have changed for the world.

The room sat still. The man who thought he had better places to be sat still. The woman who always had something important to say sat still. The room sat still.

Stillness enveloped everything. Breath was on hold. Blinking was on hold. Living, for a moment, was on hold.

His heart was breaking. Over and over again. Every thought he had, his heart was breaking. Every blink, was another image of her. Every breath was another breathe that was mocking her. Every laugh was another laugh without her.

The man grabbed his left hand once more and the music started up again. This time, no wand was forcing the room to play. This time, the man smiled while he remembered, because the music was the stuff that moved them.