In his absence, someone else began to take his place in my mind. I received a gift, a silver music box that played a classical romantic lullaby, and when I heard it play its chimes, something deep inside me stirred. Each night I played it over and over again before I laid my head against its pillow. Each night it sang to me, I began to lose my resolve.
One carefree afternoon, we happened to venture to the empty chapel, to a grand piano set in the forefront of the sanctuary. For a few timeless minutes, I played for him melodies of long sighs and exhilaration. He watched me in surprise and mild awe while I let myself go, lost in the music and overcome with rapture. I didn’t know you played so well, he said. Can you play Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”? I obliged, and when I received his gift weeks later, it played that very same tune and read, “To the most talented and beautiful person I know.”
Monday, April 10, 2006
At night I dream of walking in a lonely wood. I hear the trickle of water and the whisper of leaves rustling in the trees. There is a heavy mist in the air that keeps me from seeing above the canopy. I can’t tell if it is day or night; all I see is shadow, and I don’t know where to take a step. In the distance I hear the forlorn chime of bells—they sing sonatas of moonlight.
Even in my dreams, I could not be safe nor protect myself from the choice in front of me. I remained calm to the untrained eye, but the inner turmoil began to weigh heavy on my soul.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I feel burdened by the emptiness which comes with grief. I suffer it like stones behind my heels. I dread the daylight and crave the solemnity of night. I’ve lost my will to eat, to smile, to speak, to laugh, and even though I hurt this much, part of me is glad to be alone. I cannot explain how conflicted I feel. It’s as though I’m torn from both directions, not by any one person or two, but by my own melancholic relief. Sometimes I feel angry at myself; sometimes I feel hurt and regret, or sadness and fear. Sometimes I feel nothing—this is one of those moments.
I knew I had to tuck those thoughts away. I could not succumb to my own dark reflections, so I relied on the one person I could trust—and he the only one I should have mistrusted too—to help uplift my spirits. In his presence I found peace.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I laid in the grass, looking up at the sky, with my arms outstretched like a child reaching for the moon. I felt calm and quiet and content as I laid still—surrounded by blue skies, sunshine and good company—and for a split second, my soul was at rest. I don’t know how to describe the feeling, but for some reason, I know I will remember that moment for a lifetime. I can see that vast blue sky, interrupted only by the lazy tufts of drifting cloud; I can still feel the fresh cool grass against the nape of my neck and the small of my back; I still smell the earth, and I remember smiling for no apparent reason. The moment was so beautiful, and yet it is strange to think that something so simple could be cherished forever.
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