Blind

         The tune echoed throughout the station, haunting each and every commuters present there. Those who were having their lunch, stopped – noodles dangling off their forks or mouths. Those who were walking along were halted by the serenity of the music. Those who watched him were enchanted by the beauty of the moment.

         For him, his world had stopped. He was merely playing his heart out. A broken man, playing on his broken guitar, singing a broken song. He had placed himself there, somewhere in the middle of the whole station which he had grown to know well. With his guitar case and stool, he made camp there amidst the commotion all around him. No one noticed. No one cared. To them, he was just another peddler.

But when he started playing, a group of girls who were planning to go out for some fun and shopping could not help it but to stop and listen. That led to a father preventing his son from walking any further, curious as to the reason behind such melodious music. A gentleman, in his business suit, who was admiring the girls’ beauty and youth, noticed then the guitar player. One thing led to another till a large crowd had gathered around him, though he had not noticed. He did not care. For he was just there to find release. To pour out the hurt he had held inside for far too long, like cupping a hornet with one’s own bare hands. He could not bear the stinging pain anymore.

If he could only see, he would see the sheer crowd that had gathered to hear him play, like he always wanted. If he could only see, he would realize that he was being appreciated for himself, not the person he had always tried to be. If he could only see, look straight in front of him, standing at the back of everyone, was a lady. Her tears fell like a waterfall, not resisted by anyone watching. For she was crying for him – crying for herself at what she had let go. Because I was that lady. The one who was never strong enough for he was constantly there to pull her along the opposing tide. The one who had never the heart to bear any mishaps they might go through for he was supposed to be the one to do so. The one who was wearing the red dress, with a white rose pinned on her hair. Like he loved me to.

He may be blinded physically but I have always been the person who is truly blind. I cannot even see the man I truly loved right in front of me. I turned back then, unable to watch him anymore. All I could do know was to limp through the journey of my life without him – just like a lonely blind man would.