His Forgotten Harmony

He has heard this music. Even now, despondent and isolated, he could hear the complex notes of other loves all around him. His glassy eyes offer no more than a blink. Disengaged, he gives their songs no second thought as time slowly consumes them.

Everyone had a favourite record, one to call theirs, that with each listen only grew more meaningful. He knows this to be true. Why wouldn’t it be? In a reality of melodic connection, he alone was seemingly deaf to the symphonic love others treasure so dearly. Time weathers him slowly as fear sprouts like silver hairs from the depths of his being. Faded memories slip from his grip as he closes his eyes, trying once again to contain his sadness.

On cool summer mornings, awoken by the calls of magpies, he chooses to ignore the unfamiliar room as he struggles to open the heavy wooden door. The chirps fade as he steps onto the dewy grass. Confusion turns to calm as he strains, trying once more to recall memories from a lost time. In these rare moments, as the endless quiet is replaced by a gentle breeze, a fleeting feeling of hope washes over him.

For just a moment, through the deafening silence, he heard that in which he longed so much; her song. His beautiful Harmony.

He was young and childish. But maybe that was a good thing. Much like now, he spent his winters alone. Only then it was by choice. He couldn’t have known that in the change of seasons, like wildflowers blossoming from the frozen earth, he would first hear her song.

Morning walks were once dreaded, the fastest route was always taken. Harmony changed that. She lived on his street, but in the opposite direction from the school. Each day he slowed his pace, hoping in the seconds it took to pass the faded picket fence, he would hear her song. As he paused in front of her gate for what felt like the millionth time, from behind the blossoming peach tree, he heard the first words. Her notes felt as though they were played in a frequency only he could truly appreciate. The lyrics perfectly curated, written in language foreign to all but him.

Like verse to chorus, as spring succumbed to the dry summer heat, he had already learnt every word. He was engulfed by Harmony’s complex notes, comforted by the symphony of her warm embrace.

Summer was beautiful, given new purpose with her arrival. Afternoons well spent, listening on repeat, examining, and obsessing over her every note. As the days stretched and afternoons marked the beginning of the night, he found himself growing more and more fond of those cool summer mornings. Guided awake by the sweet calls of magpies, the dewy grass flattened beneath his beaten shoes as the gentle breeze lead him eagerly to Harmony.

He spent countless summers like this, basking in the warmth of her song, feeling content.

Autumn arrived unnoticed. It likely would’ve rested peacefully forgotten until winter if not for Harmony. Her song never grew old for him. Even after many years, playing like scratched CD in their beaten down Holden, he loved her completely. This didn’t change even when he began forgetting the words. Feeling guilty, it was dismissed as a mere lapse of attention. After all, he knew he loved Harmony, he had loved her for years. Why would that have changed? His misplaced blame masked the disheartening beginning of her song’s end; the gradual decay could only remain hidden for so long.

After this, his decline was rapid. With Harmony’s song succumbing to dissonance, she inevitably withered in memory as well. To him, she was unrecognisable.

The nostalgic peach trees shading their home, once luscious, were now bare. The aged fence of her old home fading in memory as well, as he stares confused at the frostbitten branches. Winter was unusually cold, but he had not noticed. His blissful ignorance blinded him to obvious truths; he blamed himself for forgetting. Beyond the sounds of icy rain bouncing off their tin roof, Harmony’s song continued to play, growing more unfamiliar with each passing moment. Her lyrics felt foreign, and he could not recall what word came next, nor did he want to. Years of love and symphony rendered meaningless. Deep beneath his emotionless exterior, he knew he was missing something. As he forgot his home and forgot his way of life, he felt painfully and inescapably hollow. Picket fences were replaced by tall brick walls, but to him, it was all the same. Identical rooms, all frozen in time, containing only brief moments of sadness as the featureless faces of carers reminded him that this was not home. In the pauses between their monotone speech, he couldn’t ignore the constant and deafening silence.

Winter never ended after this, his life remaining cold and barren. Sometimes people visited him, but it was overwhelming. In the time it took to know them they were already gone. They drifted in through the rotating doors on a gusty breeze, a small snippet of the icy winter outside, asking about the lyrics to a song he had never heard. He couldn’t shake the feelings of incompetency and isolation as the goosebumps spread across his skin like a rash from the chilled air. As he closed his eyes and shivered, they disappeared, leaving behind the dreaded revelation that he was alone in this silence.

Now, weathered by time, grey hairs were all that remained. Faded memories slip from his grip the instant he closes his eyes. Some mornings, the icy winter air feels almost like summer. He chooses to ignore the unfamiliar room as he struggles to open the heavy wooden door. Chirps fade as he steps onto the dewy grass. His confusion turns to calm as he strains, trying once more to recall memories from a lost time. He seems content as the gentle breeze fades, a fleeting feeling of hope washing over him.

For just a moment, through the deafening silence, he hears that in which he missed so dearly; her song.

His forgotten Harmony.