What Love Asks of Us

February is often called the month of love. Valentine’s Day arrives with its symbols and expectations, but the kind of love I’m thinking about here is quieter and broader — the love that shows up as care for another human being, the love that makes the world feel a little more humane.

Franz Liszt’s Liebesträume is often associated with romantic love, and its origins are deeply personal, drawn from love poetry and Liszt’s own emotional world. Yet like much of his music, it reaches beyond its beginnings. What remains is something larger — an expression of tenderness, intensity, and care that speaks to how we relate to one another as human beings.

The opening melody is tender and lyrical, almost as if it is listening before it speaks. At the center of the piece, the music grows passionate and dramatic, reminding us that love is not only gentle. It can be demanding, intense, and deeply human. In the final pages, Liszt brings us back to stillness — not fragile, but grounded.

When I play Liebesträume No. 3, I hear a reflection of how love actually works in life. It begins with openness, moves through challenge, and returns with understanding. This is not music about romance alone. It is music about connection — the kind that asks us to listen carefully, to be patient, and to remain open to one another.

For this February, I’m sharing my performance of Liebesträume. A performance carries breath, risk, and honesty — qualities that matter deeply to me. What you hear is simply a moment of music-making, shared as it was.

In a season that celebrates love, I hope this music offers a quiet reminder:

love is not only something we feel —

it is something we practice.