Impeccable posture and perfect tux, he arrives. Wider than life, the first thought striking your brain is how much broader his shoulders are. The muscles are much more defined than expected. Then, he has always demonstrated an almost scaringly mechanical control of all of his 700 muscles.
A subtle shift of his wrist, and it begins.
His commanding presence imposes itself on your spinning thoughts. The gracious fingers are so far away, at the opposite end of the stage. However, the feeling of them reaching inside your brain is very much real. There it is, the tender touch gathering all the loose threads of thoughts, carefully wrapping them around his dexterous fingers and strong wrists.
Only when the meticulous harvest of your thoughts is completed, will he start fiddling with your emotions, relentless as the tide, accurate as a surgeon. Suddenly, you know what it feels like to be a Stradivarius in the hands of a prodigy.
The seemingly effortless way with which he conjures rough diamonds from the cliffs of your bottom eyelids is both enthralling and maddening. The unexpected beauty of his face contorting itself is overwhelming. It flicks through a myriad of expressions in the span of a heartbeat. His intense gaze betrays the volcano burning inside. The restrained manners ingrained through the years barely conceal the storm brewing inside.
His voice wraps itself around you, cloaking you from the absurd reality of the world, sometimes soothingly, sometimes oppressively. It carries a thousand souls, a thousand minds, all alike, all desperately human and yet each unique.
The words conveyed are precious. They are essential, they are paramount to the performance, carefully chosen, wielded and delivered, years of practice culminating in a flawless enunciation. Yet, they are meaningless. Superfluous. Unneeded. Everything is already etched in the lines of his face, in the lines of his limbs, in the lines of his moves.
The similarities in between each performance are glaringly obvious, standing proudly at the forefront of the act. It is after all the same face, same eyes same nose same lips same chin same arms same fingers, same body. The variations are subtle, barely noticeable by the conscious eye. Yet, they make all the difference. No matter how many times you both end up in an identical configuration, him flying above on stage and you still in your chair, it will never be the same.
The sad part is that he will never know how much all this means.
And that is precisely the magic of it.