I was sitting there, at the back of the café, hearing an old man playing the song, the song of that afternoon. It was so simple, a G, then a C and finally an E,the notes were clear, and the story was happening again and again, in front of me, inside my head,while I was drinking a cup of tea. It was a nice memory, a nice story to repeat, but it became more than just words that I said, it became something more. Was it real? Was it true? Were you there? Nothing answered my questions, and the story kept repeating itself.
I saw you there, at the back of that café, where we met, I was reading Poe's poems, those that you used to love, while I was drinking tea. You were there, just looking at the old man that was playing the piano, trying to imitate his movements,feeling, the sound, how it changed,how some notes can create a story, and I was just there. From all of a sudden, you looked at me and you ignored me. I did the same, but the truth, is that you were part of my present since I saw you trying to imitate the old man moves, trying to find sense to the sounds…
-Why am I seeing him?- I thought, -Is this, right?, I don’t know him, and he looks like a bad guy, but I kind of love the way he imitates the movements, how he tries to follow the music, how he really wants to feel the music, it seems that he is a …-
And there you looked at me again, but this time you smiled, and looked at me, it seems that you knew that I was thinking about you. I tried to do the same, but I got nervous, and I just looked at my book. I started g to read the poem that you used to love. After that, I looked at you, but you weren’t there, and you appeared behind me, with a rose and saying the poem that I was reading…
-”For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies,Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader”, and I just wish I could know your sweet name..- and I said - Elise, and yours?- and you told me, -Like the song, right?, Für Elise, the song that I think Beethoven wrote for his secret love-. Yes- I answered- It is a magical song- and we started to talk about silly things, that most teenagers don’t mind, classical music, books, old movies, history, politics ; everything that came into our mind that we felt that was important.
It was strange, because I’ve never felt anything like this before, a real connection with somebody that I’ve just met, and that was so different from me, but so similar. Like if I knew you from before, and we were meant to meet at that café, at this café, with this song playing in the background. I didn’t notice that you never told me your name, that we were drinking the same tea, that we understood the same jokes, that we were sat in the same place that I am sitting now, that I was wearing my favourite dress and shirt, and that on that October afternoon, I met somebody that really change my point of view about love.
We were supposed to meet today, again. I arrived an hour ago, and you are not here yet. I left, i didn’t wanted to hear that piano sonata From Beethoven, the one that we were listening the day we met, the “Moonlight sonata”, the song that made me feel in love. As I was leaving, an ambulance was arriving, there was a lot of people around it, I didn’t care. I saw flowers on the floor, and I felt my tears falling through my cheeks. The last thing I did there, was to pick one of those flowers, red tulips, ,knowing that you remembered my favourite flower, and that I met the love of my life.
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