How They Got Over The Pain

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A/N: Depression is an invisible evil waiting to take over on everybody's shoulder. Also, forgive my very elementary attempt at lyric writing. I am definitely not cut out to be a musician or a lyricist.

[How They Got Over The Pain]

My muse sat across me in the room, dressed up with a serious expression, nicely styled white hair, sharp blue eyes and a matching blue coat. The fine-looking young man of his late twenties sitting in the waiting room of a counsellor's office was probably the most out of place, and he took my whole attention as I tapped my pen against my notepad.

He nonchalantly looked at his watch, and a line came to my mind.

He looks at the clock

Wishing for time to stop

Mr. Muse drew in a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down, and let it out slowly. His sharp blue eyes continued to focus on his watch as if it could do anything to compress the time. The struggle in his eyes was obvious; he was here for a similar reason as I had.

He prayed for a breath to spare

But in his heart he found nothing there

The tightness begins to fill from within

The memories that begin surfacing

The pain that start from the place

Where once a healthy heartbeat formed

Now never to feel any warmth.

I paused, not surprised that the lyrics were coming out easily. The notes that came with the words were already playing in my head, flowing steadily as I closed my eyes briefly. I could imagine my hands on the piano, playing the chords and the melody together. The chord would create a heavy background, the melody slow and soothing. There would be something bitter in the background too, just enough to mimic a slow beating heart.

I wish it was easier to breathe

I wish I did not remember those days

Those days we were happy and blissful

I hoped I could still see you again

But the truth only breaks my heart

More than your smile and more than your cries

You have gone away forever.

I paused before my pen could write another word, my eyes heavy and stinging from tears that were threatening to rise. The hot block in my throat fought to rise, the feeling as though someone was pushing on my chest and collarbone, forcing me to breathe in less air than I actually could; it was all coming back again. Hurriedly, I closed my notepad and capped my pen, wiping the tears out of the corners of my eyes.

It was coming again, the memories of the better days. Mika's laugh in my ears, her smiles whenever I closed my eyes, the imaginary feel of her warm arms around me... none of them were ever real, and what scared me more than the fact that I was hallucinating the feel, sight and sound of her, was the fact that they felt so real to me.

Forcing myself to focus back on reality, I opened my eyes and stared hard at the man who had been my muse for the past ten minutes. Writing songs were easier now, but they only had one theme in common now: it was all expressions of my thoughts in depression. It was the only way I could keep myself sane. It was the only way I could keep myself connected to Mika. I now finally understood the meanings and the feelings that Mika had always tried to convey through her songs when she vented out her frustrations and conflicted feelings through her songs. Even when the emotions never worked in her favour, Mika had wrote them all down, letting them jangle up in her perfect melody and tunes. They had been beautiful, and now –to the fiancé who could only understand her inner thoughts after her death –they were gorgeous.

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