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I’ve been thinking of the Maestro lately, the lines of his face, his hands, the way his fingers used to tremble, caressing the curves of the body as if it was a precious wooden instrument. The black fire in his eyes, the inner light that lit up the audience whenever the bow brushed the strings. The brilliance forged by torturous practice. The ironic smile. Dark circles beneath his eyes. His defiance. He so loved to play at cemeteries…
How is eternity treating you, Nicolo? Have you found your peace at last? You see now, there is no silence you have so feared. And I hear the violin still sounds at night at your grave site – a faithful watcher of her master’s sleep, your one and only true love. Though nearly two centuries have passed since your death, I still grieve for you, beloved, you -who had finally forced me to make peace with this monkey world, you – the crowning achievement of human evolution.
You have earned your immortality in your own way. And in my own way I envy you – for yours doesn’t add the burden of remembrance…
Rest easy, Maestro, and I will come and visit soon. *soft smile*
Julie Deshtor 