Continuation from the first part.
I stared at the paper with pity. I pitied myself for being so fragile and weak. I wished I were like the others. Life would have had a different flavor and the wind would have carried a different scent.
But at that moment,my soul was in that letter. I grew weary, lifeless in beauty like a gargoyle amidst the lilac sea. But God would not create a weak and fragile beast for no purpose. I had a purpose; I had become to believe that I am a cloud that hovers above humankind, away from the troubles of life, always seeing the earth as a crafted piece of heaven. And when I felt that someone had been suffering below, I pour down my rain so that there would be new life, a new hope, a reason to move on.
But clouds deal with the thunder and the lightning.
I held the letter not knowing what to make of it. I tore a small piece of the paper; do not deprive me of your melody – I folded it as neatly as the little piece would allow, and tied it to a small pebble with a piece of cloth, and threw it to her balcony. The paper landed by the leg of the piano. I felt content, satisfied; she would muse me with her reaction the next day.
That night, fate had made its atrocious decision, a rite which it performs on every man’s soul. The rite of planting the seeds of compassion and affection, doomed seeds they are. Mine have been planted before, the weed felt no remorse.
The threads of destiny drew me to the balcony in an attempt with delicate vehemence to weave my soul into another. I sat at the balcony and looked down at the piano such painful melancholy. The letter still lay by the piano. She had not read it. Or had she ignored it? Could it be that she had not seen it? Such thoughts bound themselves to my mind. I could not escape them, they grew inside, multiplied, and I felt that death was more honourable at that hour. I regressed to my bed.
I witnessed a dream, my with the absence of a companion and no piano to awake me. Life was as it was. The street below spoke of its tales from the early morning and beckoned me to be part of its life. I strolled the streets, visited the shops, and wandered without aim but without fear. My sense of security returned, but an element was missing. My dream ended abruptly.
As I arose from the bed, notes of a piano sang in my ears. She had read the letter, understood its contents, and kept an un-pledged promise. I overflowed with energy, I ran towards the balcony, and looked upon her side.
There she sat, playing the piano. The letter was not where it was once; it sat upon the piano. Her notes forced a new blood through my heart, one that I have so longed for. I did not want to miss one note, and I cursed myself to have been asleep while she played.
The pigeons and the birds danced to her melody as they soared in the cotton morning sky. The road below had no more stories to tell. The people all seemed happy, their voices muted in the air. The frightening details of life have disappeared. I was blind to all the greyness of the city, I was falling in love.
Her notes ceased. The birds drifted away into a warm draft, leaving both of us, two balconies apart, separated by silent air. She did not make the slightest movement. She appeared frozen as if her mind was suddenly possessed by a strong thought. The chatter of the people below was inaudible to me. My ears heard nothing but my heart pounding through the silent sound of thoughts.
She reached for the letter, and opened it with slight reluctance. What could she have been thinking at that moment? I watched, mesmerized, inspecting every possible movement she made that manifested the slightest emotion.
She neatly folded the paper, and placed it on a table that was to the right of the piano. A small lamp, another piece of paper and a pen lay on the table as well. She returned to the piano, seated herself, stood up and she returned to her chambers.