𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Fingerache” by Francis Dwayne Catalan

 

Layout by: Joey Francisco

Published by: Kristine Caye Emono

Date Published: February 14, 2025

Time Published: 12:25 PM

Category: Poetry

Subject: Losing passion for something you once loved.

There was a time when your voice soared through the cosmos—

Each note a sigh, a breath that made the universe bend and listen.

I would close my eyes, and the room would fill with echoes of something timeless

While the world outside faded to gray, like a canvas of muted dreams.

I remember how the room would tremble with the language of your soul—

How the keys would bloom under the pressure of your longing, as if they were alive.

Your fingers were not just fingers, but a maestro of your heart's orchestra,

Carrying something pure and endless into the air.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂—

The only one who could make notes breathe.

But the seasons, they shift—not in the sky,

But in the quiet thrum of a heart tired from living.

Fingers once eager now falter, as if they’ve forgotten how to dance,

Like leaves adrift in still waters.

The chords lay silent on the page, untouched for days on end,

Like forgotten letters sealed with regret;

Each note far too lost to be remembered,

Yet far too memorable to be forgotten.

I don’t remember when the music stopped calling,

When the spaces between the notes grew too wide,

When the silence became less of a void and more of a companion.

The strings, once taut, have loosened now, touched only by a ghost of memory.

It wasn’t sudden, this death of music—

𝘕𝘰, it bled out slowly—a note here, a note there,

Until one day, everything turned to dust,

Like the last embers of a fire too tired to burn.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜—

I am but a ghost by your side, watching the silence grow.

I could no longer remember the last song you truly loved—

It just slipped away through the cracks of passing hours, like a fugitive melody,

Lost somewhere between breaths and heartbeats—

Until I was left with only the faintest echo of a symphony that once painted my world.

Yet I chose to stay, as I stood before you,

An old friend from a distant dream.

I reached out, as my fingers brushed the keys once more,

But the notes were already dead.

The silence spoke louder than anything I could play,

And the music was long gone,

Like the dwindling light of a sunset—soft and inevitable,

Until all that remained was an ebony dusk, shrouded with unshed tears.

And thus I bid you farewell, leaving you

Where the dust settles thick, where the air keeps still,

Like the fading warmth of a hand

That once held me close.