She sat alone in the grand hall- surrounded by gold. Golden walls, golden frames, an extravagant chandelier that reflected the flickering golden light of the candles. But she herself saw none of its beauty. She saw an empty room, the mocking faces of the golden frames’ portraits, and worst of all, she felt a silence so disturbing that all she wanted was to kick and scream-

She took a deep breath. It has always been this way, she told herself.

Her eyes traveled down to the keys spread out in front of her and she thought of her teacher. She thought of the extravagant pieces she was taught, and the showy songs she played for the guests at every gathering. She heard them in her head, but her fingers felt something else, a melody she alone knew, and no one else.

She couldn’t take another minute of this silence. Her fingers fell onto the keys as she let go finally and let the piano speak what she couldn’t say all this time. It screamed for her and kicked for her, it allowed her thoughts to escape, even if just for that afternoon.

The finest thing that arose

out of the war-

comradeship.

He is not the first

that I have seen thus,

but we grew up together;

makes it a bit different.

He is dead

“Get up!”

The idea was low,

as if I could save him.

“Where is the doctor?”

“Come quick!”

He is dead.

The weeping woman

at home

to whom I must write

“I wish he was here”

I cannot do anymore.