Sunday, 8 April 2012

Jeff is playing guitar in the living room, he's even taking requests and it makes me so happy. He's playing this amazing melody that he's composed. It's filled with so much emotion, so many feelings in the strumming of chords and notes on a simple device such as a guitar. Even as I sit here I can feel the emotional turmoil and though process that he was going through. I personally think that its only truly real musicians that can make you feel the things that they feel through music. He's singing an existential crisis he had a while ago, I like to think that Rosa and I were the first people to hear it, although I'm probably wrong.

The Dojo was dark except for flickering lights of the candles on the low side table. There was a dark figure sitting in the corner, comfortable. He was humming and strumming his guitar to the music emanating from his heart. I could hear his fingers squeeking from fret to fret and the gentle, steady in and out of his breath. The music filled the room as it does now, it fills ever pore of my being and I cannot remember a time when I had ever felt empty. Everything I ran away from at home now seems like a million miles away and that I would never have to feel that kind of displease again. Every so often I'm captivated and relaxed by the melody, every so often I lay back and watch him play from the comfy chair on the other side of the room. He makes everything on Etgar feel so much better, and as much as I like to deny it, I miss him when he isn't here. His husky voice and sweet soothing strumming builds a protective layer around us. It shields us from the dangers of our own minds and creates a mesmerising window for our emotional turmoil, especially here and now with everything that's going on. The intense atmosphere of Shnat. It all seems tangible.

He says he maybe subconsciously wrote it about a friend he's missing.

I feel like I'm actually going to cry.

After Dark

There's a light out side my window
shining through the half drawn curtain onto my face. It is warming my pillow.
I should close it
but sleep has over come my body and I cannot move.
There are people moving around out side.
In my head
a story plays out about a boy and a girl.
Friends for so many years
but pulled apart by the winds of change
through a series of events unbetoled to the people of the room
I can feel a slight breeze that carries a sweet smell across the room
in the early hours of the morning
when its quite and still I think back to those people
the ones I used to know
that have since gone away
and have not returned my phone calls or text messages
I reminisces about the times and the places and the people that we all called friends,
wondering if well ever meet up again.
There are people all over the world
Without the sun on their face in the midst of blankets and warm comforting senses.
I'm waiting.

She has since grown up and found a new life far away across the country.
She is dressed all in white and there are people all around her.
She doesn't recognise their faces
 biting back tears when they all rise as the wedding march is struck up by the band in the corner.
Her father kisses her on the cheek and she can smell the musty smell of his old brown coat,
his beard gently catches her hair.
He places her hand in his,
she looks up,
he's not the one.

He is sitting alone in a coffee shop, a notebook lays open on the table in front of him but the pages are blank and he doesn't know what to write.

"Sorry I couldn't make it" he mumbles under his breath and discards the many crumpled notes, each confessing his love in one line, that just isn't good enough.

He could have gone but he just didn't want to go, all the memories of that summer came flodding back in one sweep of emotion.
He walks outside into the rain.
A lit cigarette in his hand.
The church is down the road and absent mindedly on purpose he starts to walk.

Flower petals blow in the wind and catch in her hair as she, smiling, descends the stairs.

He watches from across the road.

Briefly, their eyes meet. One second.

Maybe it could have been different if they had tried hard enough to keep it together. If she hadn't gone away and if he hadn't said those things. If they had only tried to make it work, to talk more, or visit.

She turns to her new husband, and runs across the road.

The End.