Alone. You were alone. In the gray room. You sat alone.
But were you lonely? I cannot say. Rather, I was sure I saw a glimpse of a soft smile on your face as you basked in the red sunlight that streamed down from the high window in the west.
The sun was setting.
But it wasn't the red sun I saw that stained the walls of the gray room, it was the colors of the music that rang clearly around you.
I never saw your complete face. Only the side of it when you'd turn a bit to listen more keenly to the tones of your instrument. When you'd start to lose yourself in the melodies. When you'd concentrate and furrow your eyebrows in the higher registers. When you'd smile in your own solitude.
And yet, I knew your thoughts. Your emotions. Your heart. Your everything. How breathless the moment was. The connection so alive, it felt as if you were playing only for me. ...only for me.
The Grandfather. The Cello. How beautifully he sang. How beautifully you played.
I remember your body naturally flowing together with the cello as if it were a part of you. The way your back muscles moved with the rhythm as you glided the bow across. Ripple. The thin and long fingers slowly advancing up the fingerboard. Thumb position. Vibrato. Sway.
Beautiful.
The soft cascade of notes that followed blended the low tones together into a flowing pool of sound.
I found myself lost in your world that you dreamt up.
And someday. Maybe someday. I will reach you there.
