𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

electric gaze

Emma

The fear of walking out of Frewood station alone at night was immediately replaced with a warm familiar feeling, as soon as I was led outside by the dulcet melodious chords played by a street artist's violin.

Something about this place had the incredible capacity of always feeling like home: as if as soon as the locomotive advances in this same direction, all the superficial problems of Swyncoast are silenced and left behind.
I was captivated by my surroundings: the sublime tune, the warm breeze that touched my skin, and the starry sky above me. One step forward and my heart was laying in a feeling of genuine peace.

There's something so pure about this place, about how the old street lamps light the way and how the kids play outside in summertime. The streets are full of laughter and innocence and the old ladies on the balconies watch their grandkids with nostalgic smiles on their faces, tenderness all over their eyes. The residents greet you with gentle words and a kind expression, and everyone knows each other and their stories. Frewood is the true embodiment of home and family.

When I was little I didn't value this place enough, I used to think the dream was to have a big white house in Swyncoast, with a tennis court and a big backyard with palm trees. But no, the dream is to live by the sea, breathe the salt air, feel free, feel full. And no place on Earth could give me those things combined as Frewood did.

Step by step, the heavenly violin's melody had become louder and more perceptible. "La vie en rose" was playing while three little kids danced around the old violinist. He was probably in his sixties. Long gray hair and a beard, and wearing a black French coat that reached his feet. Lying above his leather derby shoes, an orange Persian cat was sleeping peacefully.

I stood there in silence for a minute, just listening, with my eyes closed, absorbing the sweet laughter of the children, the music, and the sound of the train leaving the station. When the time felt right, I slowly allowed myself to come back to reality. Music always had the power to silence my fears for a while. I think it was the only thing that still allowed me to breathe because lately, my mind had more control over my life than me and nothing that I did seemed to be able to change that. But music did, music healed me for a brief second.

With a glance at the train station clock, I noticed it was a quarter to nine. At this time the girls had probably already arrived at the theater so I had to hurry. I opened the second clasp of my guitar case and picked up my coin purse. After making sure I had left enough to buy a bottle of water once I reached the theater, I put some coins on the street artist's violin case to support him.

I had much respect for these people. I think having the courage and ambition to play in the streets in search of something bigger, or just to share your talent and make someone's day better by listening to it is one of the most beautiful things in life. I was inspired by it and every time I saw someone doing it I wish I had their courage.
But this wasn't the first time I saw this man, neither his Persian cat. He usually played next to the station, mainly French songs. After petting and mouthing the little ball of fur in front of me "goodbye", I was ready to turn around when the old man played the last chords of "La vie en rose". A couple that was passing by applauded him followed by the little kids dancing in front of me.

"Are you a musician too?" - the old man asked pointing at my guitar.

"Oh, not professionally. I do it in my free time. We are giving a small concert tonight."

"Oh I see, I used to play with my friends when I was about your age, too. But you know how things are, you graduate, you follow different paths. They all became doctors and businessmen. But an old man has to stick to his true love, you know! And mine his music and little Ellie over there." - he said gesturing to the orange Persian cat.