The Music

I could feel my pulse throbbing in my hand, beating wildly like a wayward drum against the soft beauty of the strings. Around me were contented smiles, gentle nods and peaceful tapping fingers as the auditorium filled with the sound of music.
I was chaos.
I was misery.
I was memory.
I was tragic, simple, melody.

To them the music was pure, sweet, meaningless. To me it was pain, awakening, death, despair, hope and perseverance all together. The tune was sweeter than I could bear. I was raw with remembering. A gentle smile, a lithe laugh. The way her hands drew the bow across the strings with such steady magic. She had been the embodiment of encouragement.
I felt sick. The music was too beautiful. It cut through me like a knife against butter.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked me, and I realized I was shaking.

"Nothing." Came the automatic response. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's ever wrong. The music trilled on and I took a deep breath, willing myself to forget.








2/11/ 07