11-20-20

It had been a long day full of false pleasantries and secret impassivity; to those around me I was just unusually quiet. I collected my things and began my usual journey to Astor Place. I had no where to be. My feet led me where they saw fit, and picked up on the sound of an untethered tune. Piano notes floated by me and kissed my ears.

 As I approached, the sound vibrated in my chest. I decided to become acquainted with the bench, no longer concerned with catching my train, and spend some time in his world. Song after song I fixed my gaze on this man as his hands flew in the air with passion and his fingertips fluttered along the keys—gracing them with his emotions. What melancholy I felt. 

A woman walked up to him and he revealed that his heart was broken just two weeks ago. I felt his sorrow in my chest. 

He finished his set and explained that the next songs he’d play were obscure Russian ballots that would bore those who stayed.

So, I stayed.

What followed was the most heart wrenching, unhinged melody that made me feel all of his enchantment and disillusionment. His bliss and his anguish. His calmness and his ferocity. The eyes wickedly followed the hands as they danced across the keys. The man played for himself; immersed in a world completely of his own creation.

 On his last song, he met my gaze. We stared for what felt like minutes. We looked through each other’s windows. 

An understanding passed through us; intangible and profound.

His face softened, and he took a final breath. 

For the first time in my life, I felt love for a stranger.