A couple of nights ago, I couldn't sleep. It was one a.m. and I turned on my lamp. I was sitting at my desk and on my phone, quietly turned on Für Elise. I was looking around my dimly lit room, and thinking about how it was so silent, and nothing b...
This utter silence, when there is no sound but your own ragged breathing and the lonesome ticking of a clock... Tick-Tock, tick-tock, every waking minute, every waking hour, and somewhere far off in the distance, only the somber piano notes of an out of tune Yamaha could be heard, sadly plinking out Für Elise, with each passing note your heart grows heavier, and somebody's ethereal weeping grows louder and louder, as the piece reaches the fast part. You look down and notice your fingers, gliding over an invisible keyboard, poised in midair, and suddenly, as quickly as those sad, distant notes begun, they have stopped, and you are once again left alone with only the formidable silence, the ticking clock, and your own reckless thoughts, to be your companions for the rest of this solitary night. You blow out the candle, flickering with a lively glow on your nightstand, a faint wisp of smoke curling up into the air. Placing your now cold, unfinished black tea on the table, you lay down your quill, knowing full well that you wouldn't be able to decipher your incoherent, mess of handwriting when dawn should come, your words lost forever in a sea of ink splatters and splotches. You climb into your bed which is cold with lurking fears, and close your eyes. The piano, rickety and old, starts up again, only this time, you could touch the keys, feel the rhythm of the music pulsate through your fingers, for you are the one playing, you are the one in complete control.
Für Elise... you loved her, and now she's gone. Slipped away through your short, calloused fingers, never to be seen again. Maybe it was your own fault, you can't help but wonder. Sometimes, that question keeps you up, countless nights in a row, agonizing and contemplating your every little thought and move. And you know that there will be others, but will there ever be faces as beautiful as hers or lips as red and soft? Your hair goes gray more and more each day, as she encompasses your mind, flitting through your thoughts constantly, but it's no use, she's married now and you're still alone, with your wretched music as a cruel reminder of your broken heart. You decide that you fall in love too easily, but can it be helped, when there are just so many beautiful and talented women, roaming the planet, passing you by daily with their tinkling, intoxicating laughs, and dainty, sweet faces? Will your poor heart ever be loved, as one often loves another? A tear falls on your pillow as you shift onto your side. All your thoughts inevitably go back to her... your Immortal Beloved. This isn't the first time that your heart has broken multiple times in one night.
The music stops once more, your swarthy, red fingers, resting ever so gently on the keys of your tattered Yamaha. Your hair, gray, rumpled and sweaty, gets pushed back behind your ear, as then after you rub your hand over your week-old, coarse stubble. Closing your eyes, you dream of her. Elise....
Therese... my Therese, oh how I've loved you
Truly yours, your beloved L
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