[October 1st, 1939]
Tonight, she performed it.
And i went to see her.
I do not know what compelled me to do so, only that I could not stay away. Not when it was that song.
I saw her before the performance.
Backstage, there was no audience, no music, only silence between us.
We sat together, though it felt as though we were separated by something far greater than distance. I asked how she had been. It was a meaningless question, spoken only to fill the quiet. I did not ask what I truly wished to know.
Not then.
Time passed without measure.
Then, at last, she spoke.
There was something different in her expression, uncertain, almost vulnerable. I have seen that look before... and each time I have turned away from it, unwilling to press further, unwilling to cause discomfort.
But not this time.
I could not turn away again. I wont.
She hesitated.
And then, slowly, she gave me my answer.
She said that she cherished me.
That she cared for me.
That she loved having me in her life.
But not in the way that I had hoped.
There are few moments in a life that divide it so cleanly into before and after.
I believe that was one of them.
Neither of us spoke after that.
There was nothing left to say.
I do not know how long we remained there, sitting in silence, but eventually it was time for her to go on stage. In the end, all I could manage was a simple acknowledgment.
I told her I understood.
I am not certain that I did.
We parted without anything more.
I took my place among the audience.
The lights dimmed.
And then she appeared.
She looked as she always does. Composed, elegant, almost unreal in the way she holds herself. For a moment, it was easy to believe that nothing had changed.
Then she began to play.
The first notes alone were enough.
I knew the piece, every part of it, every word, every silence in between and yet, hearing it there, from her, it felt like something entirely different.
When she sang, it was as though the song no longer belonged to me.
It belonged to her.
To us.
And to something neither of us could have.
The further she went, the more difficult it became to remain where I was. Each line felt heavier than the last, as though the very thing I had written to be understood had become something I could no longer endure.
It was not only my voice in that song.
It felt as though hers was there as well.
Not in words.
But in something beneath them.
Something that said what she could not give.
And what I could not accept.
Memories returned without warning. Every conversation, every moment, every fleeting expression I had held onto. They came all at once, carried by her voice, by the music I had once believed would bring me closer to her.
Instead, it made the distance undeniable.
I could not bear it.
Before the song had ended, I stood.
I left.
I did not look back.
I do not know how far I walked, only that I could not stop. If I had remained, even a moment longer, I do not think I would have been able to leave at all.
I cannot stay.
To remain by her side, to exist within her life and yet never truly be part of it... it is something I am not strong enough to endure.
It is not that I do not love her.
It is because I love her too much.
More than I know how to carry.
More than I know how to endure without breaking.
Even if leaving wounds her.
Even if it destroys what little remains between us.
I must choose this.
For the first time, I have chosen myself.
I did not say goodbye.
I do not think I ever could.