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11:59 p.m. - Tuesday, Dec. 15, 2009 Satie: He enters, swooning, charismatic. Older. Don't leave. Don't go to bed, yet. He's falling in love. We talk, we stumble. He finds things he doesn't like. He fights them. He fights me. Anger. But love conquers all and he reaches acceptance. His faults, once subtle - become glaring. He bangs on the door, begging me to come out. I fade away. After I have gone, he remains . . .alone. Chopin: Clarity. He knows what action he must take. He takes the medication, drinks the alcohol. Hoping he never wakes up. Anger, rage, fear, disappointment, loneliness, regret . . .things we all feel - but they overwhelm him and he is overcome. He gets his wish. He doesn't wake up. I sit in the classroom, taking a final exam. I look out the window and see the snow falling. So gentle, so peaceful. One more final and I'll be done with the hardest semester of my life. I don't yet know what he has done. It's ironic how peaceful one person can feel when another is suffering so violently. I hear the news. I accept the passing. I feel grief, regret, loneliness. Helplessness. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. He believes he has destroyed this negative emotion by taking his physical life . . .but he has merely transferred it to those he once loved. And those who loved him will bear his cross. I know I'm not as prepared as I have been in the past. But I don't want perfection. It's not the memory, or the flawlessness that I'm seeking. It's only this: to convey the emotion. To be naked on that stage. To let them see me. To give them music. � � |