Tuesday night was as cold and as silent as the early snow falling on the concrete of our city. The full moon had casted towering shadows of our neighboring apartments and oddly enough there was barely a single car passing through our often busy streets.
My windows were open at two o'clock in the morning and I thought maybe I was the single soul awake enjoying the comfort from this solitude.
I need not empty streets and snow to be free from noise, though. Silence had been my trusty companion for eternity that I stopped hating her for disabling me from enjoying the glorious fizzle from opening a soda can (Not that I have proof of the said sound being glorious but I've always wondered how it sounded like, if any). I came to realize that without her, I could've lost my sanity long ago.
While in my reverie a pile of snow suddenly fell from above. I looked up and saw that the guy living on the 9th floor had opened his windows and sat by it with his guitar. "Guess I wasn't alone after all," I thought.
The moonlight gently touched the guy's yellow hair when he started playing.
His inaudible notes drifted with the cold, wet wind but with the help of the moon, I tasted his music:
It was sweet and tender like the young man's face,
but it bore a tinge of saltiness and the bitterness of grief.
These flavors fit like holding hands
of long-time lovers on a stroll.
I clapped my hands for the young fellow when he stopped playing. He hastily wiped his tears away and looked down, saw me clapping two floors below and I swear I saw him smile before he closed his window, leaving me alone with the moon and our snow-covered street.
A cochlear hearing aid will be implanted on my ears next week and maybe, just maybe, I'd get to hear him at last.
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It Came From Above by KASH
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