The room was big. And though it was not empty there was space to allow distance and separation. Muted tones penetrated the cool, damp air and finessed the thoughts and contemplation that made them both feel the same hints of solitude. New melodies floated in a raw state of limbo as words tried them out to see what gave way and what held strong. The two of them stood apart – he was at the window staring blankly at the street below and she was at the desk standing with eyes closed trying to feel their next words. It was gray. Not a bright color could be found anywhere in their world and their silence reflected the light. There were feelings in the air, too, even though they didn’t dare speak of them. They both knew they were there; they had seen and felt them, but to talk about them would make them worldly and they both knew that the world was too ugly to have them floating around unguarded. So they kept to themselves and stuck to the love-song that was unfolding before them. In reality, they were writing about that very day; those exact instants, but they distanced the subjects so as to avoid looking love in the eyes. It was a song they wrote to each other and for each other and when they sang it, the truth of it was clear. But even that didn’t crack the locks that were on their hearts – locks that were put in place by their mouths and minds.
It was pouring rain outside and cars drove past the building on the street below. He couldn’t have been happier and she seemed more content and sweeter than usual. It was such a strange and wonderful setting that they both would remember for years afterwards, each time revisiting every little aspect of the hours that gave them the song that should have changed their lives.
But it didn’t change their lives. He kicked himself for missing it – for ignoring her eyes when he sang to her how he really felt. And she resented herself for not realizing who she was really singing to. It was a simple case of confusion – it could have happened to anyone.