“I want you to play me like a cello.”

“I plunked down on the couch beside him. "I don't have any accomplishments of any kind. I'm stupid and boring. I don't have any hobbies. I don't play sports. I don't write poetry. I don't travel to interesting places. I don't even have a good job." "That doesn't make you stupid and boring," Morelli said. "Well, I feel stupid and boring. And I wanted to feel interesting. And somehow, someone told my mother and grandmother that I played the cello. I guess it was me...only it was like some foreign entity took possession of my body. I heard the words coming out of my mouth, but I'm sure they originated in some other brain. And it was so simple at first. One small mention. And then it took on a life of it's own. And next thing, everyone knew.""And you can't play the cello." "I'm not even sure this is a cello."Morelli went back to smiling. "And you think you're boring? No way, Cupcake.""What about the stupid part?"Morelli threw his arm around me. "Sometimes that's a tough call.”

“Playing the cello did feel nicely neolithic, or at least a civilized way to process the primitive.”

“There's that thing that can happen to you when you meet somebody and you don't consider them extraordinary at all and then they do something like play the cello or write amazing poetry or sing and suddenly you look at them completely differently.”

“I want to play you…” He pressed his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. “I want to play your body like an instrument.”

“And then Adam Wilde shows up at Carnegie Hall on the biggest night of my career, and it felt like more than a coincidence. It felt like a gift. From them. For my first recital ever, they gave me a cello. And for this one, they gave me you.”