Letters Unwritten - #ToAllTheBoysContest

Listening is not Hearing

Sometimes, when the stage lights hit me, I can almost imagine you in the sea of faces. It's been years, but your eyes still seem to find mine. I know you're here, even if it's not where you want to be.

Once, the stage manager complimented me at the end of the show. He had cornered me backstage, eyes wide with respect, "That was real passion up there. Well done, son." He had winked after that, before adding, "Got a special someone?"

I had just laughed and waved off the question with an offhanded, "nope, there's nobody."

Of course, you weren't actually there. But I still like to imagine you are. 

I remember the time you were in the crowd. Blonde hair, head cocked to one side, eyes locked onto me. Chills had ran up my spine, and I had the gut feeling that this girl was listening to the music on a level I would never understand. When I wrote them, it wasn't about anyone in particular. Love was lost on me, it had given up and moved on ages ago to a more suitable person. Now its' interest was piqued. You had half-smiled, before turning on your heels and leaving the room. The space you held filled up quickly, as if you were never there.

I searched for you after the show and found you at the bar, staring at your phone. You seemed startled when I approached you. When I tried to talk to you, all you did was stare over my shoulder, waiting. After a few tense seconds, your friend sidled up and possessively stepped in front of me, demanding what I wanted. 

"She's deaf," your friend said bluntly when I asked to speak to you, "I'd appreciate it if you stop bothering her and leave us alone."

Why did you come, if you couldn't hear?

Your friend jutted her chin towards me angrily, "She came for me, and I don't care who you are and what you think you're entitled to. I'd suggest you back off."

A tap on her shoulder, and she whipped around to look at you. You signed something to her, making me wish I took that sign language class in high school. Her friend sighed and glanced back at me, "She wants you to know that she came for the emotions. She can feel the music. She doesn't need to hear it to understand." She looked back at you and you signed something else. "And she wants you to know that you don't sing with emotion."

I was stunned. Hurt even. What could a girl who couldn't even hear possibly know? You had left, without even looking back at me.

Years passed. Love was disgusted with my lack of effort and deserted me once again. But even now, when I feel you in the crowd, I sing with my heart and hope that someday, you can feel it.