Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Sound of silence

I loved you.

The full stop at the end of the sentence left her exhausted. Putting down the fountain pen on the old wooden table, eyes closed, she took a deep breath then looked over the letter once again.

I still remember the day when we first experienced the painful meaning of "separation". Don't you forget it? How we walked down in the chill of the continuous rain, hand in hand, both humming the melody of our favorite song, a song with no lyrics. I still remember your hand, wet but warm and soft, holding mine tightly as if it was a knot which could never be loosened between us. I wanted to hold on to it so badly that just thinking of letting it go for a while was enough to make my heart ache...

Yes, she still remembered it, the day he'd sent her off at the airport. Their city was covered with rain almost half a year and people are all used to the damp cold of the weather. The other half of the year was bright and sunny, which, of course, was loved and looked forward to by all of the city's citizens. They'd first met in the rainy half and she was glad that it'd happened in that season instead of the sunny one. In her city, there was a story that told couples who first met each other on a rainy day were destined to be together and never could be apart. Her innocent heart had truly believed in such romantic story and so it wasn't too hard to imagine how happy she'd been when her very first love had come to her in a chilly rain.

I thought we could be like that forever, side by side, hand in hand, smile after smile. I loved the days you drove me in the rain where we could share our raincoat and I could feel how warm it was to embrace you from the back, smelling you sweat and felt your gentle startle as I tightened my arms. You told me about your friends, how your first love looked like when you was five (She loved to wear pink dresses and white shoes. I was surprised to find out that we studied in the same kindergarten but I could hardly remember about that time), how you managed to play truant once in third year and so on. Just simple stories like our love. And maybe because it was so simple, I'd never imagine one day this love could hurt me so deeply.

She read again another part of the letter. The song kept playing again and again from the CD player. Their favorite song. She named it "the sound of silence" because she always felt like it was trying to tell her some story underneath such beautiful notes gracefully played by piano and violin. A sad story, perhaps. She loved to listen to the song on rainy days while looking at the rain drops smashing against the window in despair, they could never break through its glasses as well as she could never break through the shadow in her heart.

Do you still remember it, our song? I thought I was among the very few who like that kind of music, but you surprised me by showing your collection of the same artist and of all their works, we both liked the same song the most. You said it made you feel the loss of time so clearly, like a spring never stopped flowing  down away the mountain. Hence, it reminded you not to waste a single day of your life and live it to the fullest because you couldn't take back what had been swept away in time flow. At that very moment, all of my senses told me that you were the one I'd been looking for, the missing piece which completed the puzzle of my life perfectly. Thinking of days and nights we could spend together listening to the song made my heart shiver with happiness. And more than anyone, you know how earnestly I prayed for it to come true.

Rain kept falling down outside the window. The violin part of the song was like a sharp wire bit by bit squeezing her heart. Memories kept flowing back to her mind and made it flooded. She'd never thought of another ending to their story other than a happy one. The day they said goodbye at the airport, he'd promised to wait for her, he'd even joked that she'd better pick a sunny day to return so that he could bring a huge bunch of lilies, her most favorite kind of flower, to welcome her back. She'd stroked her hands along every figure of his face, reminding herself never to forget it as well as the bright smile which had always lit up her rainy days. The last-minuted checking had been announced on the speakers, and she could  have barely managed to turn her back and walk into the checking room. That day, she hadn't cried, as she'd strongly believed in a return as well as in his love.

Dear J,
How are you? I'm doing fine...

The salutation sounded fake but it was still far better than a grievance. She could hardly remember how she got through the funeral as well as days after that when people said she treated herself like a dead one, clinging to his picture. She was leaving this city again, maybe it was forever this time. Her family had almost finished the packing. They couldn't hide their happy faces when she agreed to move with them. She folded up the letter, put it in a pink envelop, wrote down his name on the receiver line. She held the envelop in both hands, gently stroking her fingers over his name then she stood up, slowly went to the fireplace and, after a short breath, she threw the letter into the burning fire.

Her mothered stepped into the room, carrying along something that looked like a little dress.

- Honey, I have just found this out in a corner of my wardrobe. You used to like this dress very much. Time flies by so fast, eh? I still remember how you always liked wearing pink dresses and white shoes in your kindergarten...

2 comments:

  1. The story is so sad.... Very poetic and full of emotion...

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  2. a tiny part of this story is my story :)

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