An aria is an elaborate composition, replete. It is stone fireplaces and unguarded glances, champagne and living in a place where all the rest of the world has pushed pause. O! Oratorio! The most gorgeous song, rendered beautifully. An aria, she thinks, must be sung so that it reverberates off the tiled art where one bathes.
She is performing in the most bittersweet opera, wondering if it will end in a duet or a solo – the chambers of music torn open or sew’d shut. All the best opera are based in hope. The tragedies have no quarter when compared to the lifting of the soprano and alto, the tenor and bass of the spirit soaring above earthly cares.
Operetti, singing the songs of this life. These singers, they deserve happiness. She knows little, but she knows this: BEN şarkı şarkı sevgi. She sings the songs of this life.
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mary june brown 