The sun seemed to pour in effortlessly today. He couldn’t be bothered. It’s been dark the past couple of weeks. His gloomy heart had cast its shadows upon the place that was once home.
It was only 8 am, and yet, he had lit his third cigarette. The country bar, formerly his distraction, now a place he avoids. The country folks only looked on with pity, their faces seemed to spell apologies they couldn’t utter. Sympathy was the only gift he received. These days, he spent his days looking through his window as though he was expecting someone.
Puffing out the cigarette, his eyes saw something glisten as hit by the rays of the sun. He took a few steps and was suddenly brought to a halt. There it stood with all of its poise and majesty.
The piano.
The piano.
He smiled as he took quick puffs at the cigarette. A smile that lingered with a mixture of sadness and coldness. Memories came rushing back.
The hallway where the piano stood was their favourite place. There he sang songs he had written about her. She listened, her head gently placed on his shoulder. She loved to watch him play, giggling now and then. The sound of her laughter; soothing to his soul.
The framed photo they had taken at the last year’s carnival still hanged on the wall adjacent the piano. A trophy he couldn’t do away with it. She had worn a dark brown hat, his hat, and the floral patterned knee-length dress that she had loved so much.
His gaze shifted to the piano. Once a sight to behold, however, these days it sits in desolate and gathers dust upon dust.
The sound of music has not been heard ever since she left. He couldn’t bring himself to the task, everything about it screamed her name. She was the lyrics to his melody.
Today was no different. It was just another day since she left. He counted the days for the first few weeks but lost track of them. What did it matter anyway? She was gone.
However, there was a sudden longing to struck those keys once again. A yearning to hear the harmony and symphony produced by the black and white keys.
He couldn’t explain it but he had to. It could be his last.
He sat on the piano stool regardless of the dust it had also accumulated. He hastily wiped off some of the dust on the piano with the sleeve of his shirt.
With his left hand, he wiped the dust on the piano.
He played a note. He hesitated and then played another note. Before he knew it, he was playing a melody. The melody. An all too familiar one. Yet, words failed him, all he could do was play.
The cigarette hit the ground. A tear from the right eye streamed down his cheek. He sang the only lyrics he knew. The lyrics to another sad love song.
Sed 