can you feel the music? || ᴮʳᵃᵈˡᵉʸ "ᴿᵒᵒˢᵗᵉʳ" ᴮʳᵃᵈˢʰᵃʷ

Prologue

The feeling of music is unlike any other. It's almost like the feeling of falling in love, and every piece of music is a different lover. I have never been in love. But I didn't need to as long as I felt my music.

The Tennessee Mountains used to be my muse. I used to climb up as far as I could and just listen to the music created by my surroundings. I loved the wind in the trees, the steady flow of the river nearby, and the birds singing overhead. It was my safe space. Nothing could hurt me in my forest.
The pencil in my hand would flow across my sheet music so fast that sometimes I would forget that I had been up there for hours. I didn't bring any instruments, but I could feel that it was right.

As soon as I would get home i'd go straight to my piano and finally listen to the lover created by my music. Sometimes they would soft and gentle, like feathers sitting in the palm of your hand. And sometimes they would be rough and passionate, like a roaring fire. But the the same high hit me every time no matter what. Nothing could stop me from feeling my music.

Until I got the call.

My mother had been battling cancer for years. Constantly in and out of hospitals praying that by some miracle the doctors to say that she's cured. It had been a long journey for the both of us. My father had left when I was very young. So it had just been the two of us since day one.

My mother was a free spirit. A wild and beautiful woman always looking for adventure. Whether it was packing up all her things and moving across the country with an infant all by herself or booking a last minute trip to Africa for herself alone. She was the strongest person I had ever known. Which is why it had shocked me to receive a call in the middle of the night from her nurse.

It was 2:00am when my phone rang, making me pause my piano playing. I answered only to hear the worst news of my life. The high I had been feeling drifted away as I grabbed my keys and sped off to New York. My mother had moved there five years prior, searching for yet another adventure. But just a few months ago she took a turn for the worst. The doctors said there was a possibility of her getting better, so my mother assured me that there was no need for me to move there to be with her. She knew it would be hard for me to leave my forest.

As I arrived at the bustling city the tears had just started to prick my eyes. The knowledge finally setting in that my mother was gone. I watched as the nurse covered my beautiful mother with a sheet. Even when her hands were cold and limp, I could feel her love through them. As if her soul had not yet left her body just waiting for me to arrive. The funeral shortly followed. Dozens of people arrived from all over the world. My mother was anything but a stranger. A world traveler always making friends in the lowest places. Many people made speeches but I just couldn't. I couldn't speak as if she was gone because that would make it real. Even as I saw her coffin being lowered into the ground it felt like she'd pop out any moment and tell us this was a big elaborate joke. But that never happened. The coffin was buried, and with her went my music.

After that my forest never felt the same. It was like I couldn't hear it anymore, everything turned into white noise. The feeling of even my happiest music never penetrated deeper than my skin, and it no longer flowed towards my heart. Every lover that my music had graciously given me had left without a trace.

I was numb.

In the following weeks I didn't leave my house, living off of the money I had been saving since I was thirteen. Even though I was still there, the small cottage that was nestled deep within in my forest was empty. Devoid of all life that was once there. I had not cried once since seeing my mother in the hospital. It was like the tears were locked away deep within my psyche. No matter how hard I tried, the tears that so desperately wanted to spill were blocked by my own mind. People tried to reach out but the phone felt like it was a thousand tons in my hands. Every "I'm sorry for your loss." was like a new weight settled on my shoulders. I just couldn't handle it anymore so I stop answering.

My Aunt Jenny had called a few times to check up on me throughout those weeks. She in every way is like my mother. So much so that it physically hurt to hear her voice. But she is the only family I had left. Because of that I answered every single of of her calls. I guess at some point I sounded so devoid of emotion that she offered me to move in with her and her daughter. But I couldn't leave my forest. Even though it was no longer mine I was gripping onto the hope that I would feel its music again. But I knew I never would. Which led me to call her and tell her I was accepting her offer.

Leaving my forest was torture. I would be leaving everything I had held so dear in my heart behind, and it shattered me. The cream colored upright piano that rested in my living room was too heavy to load in the truck. So I had to leave it behind. Along with all the memories that came with it.

As I took one last look at the forest behind my cottage, I knew it was never mine to keep. And even then, I didn't cry.

I just turned around and didn't look back.