The violinist with no name

I fell in love with a violinist with no name.
I saw him playing the violin.
There was something about the way that he moved. The way that he the gazed - sometimes with wide open eyes looking towards the bright lights and the chandelier hanging lonesome in this big hollow hall, - and sometimes with eyes lowered like he caressed the sounds itself with the deepest love.
I was enchanted by this violinist with no name. Everything drowned. The audience drowned. My own mind drowned out. Even time seemed not to matter. My body was filled with the deepest feeling of beauty, but a somewhat intimate beauty - like he shared some of his soul with every single note.

As the concert continued I was falling deeper and deeper into this enchantment. From the small smiles which emerged after each piece was played, and the way that he look around, wandering, to the way that he would run his hand through his thick brown long hair.
I know that the violinist with no name was never to know my face. I would be faceless to my nameless violinist.
I fell in an enchanting love. - not a love of simple attraction or vanity or lust, but something way more.

My nameless violinist was never to be seen again after the lights went off. My nameless violinist left with the darkness and I was never to see him again. My nameless violinist went into the darkness and disappeared with a piece of my soul and heart. He left with the tear in my eye. My nameless violinist whom I fell in love with, left with the emptiness of dying sounds.

I was never to find my nameless violinist.
I looked for him far and wide.
My violinist was never to be known by name, only by heart and soul.

And
Forever shall my heart long for my violinist with a name not to be known.