A musician's interpretation of love (oneshot)

~First of all, I would like to apologize for my grammar. I made this story last year~

She died. She died a rather horrible death. A suicide bomber suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the midst of her recital a decade ago. She died protecting her violin. Her Emi. Her favourite instrument. Her only treasure. The very thing that hurt me. I wondered why.

Last night, I saw it in my closet, haunting me in my sleep. The violin now rusty brown, its strings loosened as if it died with the owner. With her. Inside the case lies a note. Her handwriting. “To my beloved Joseph, find and do the impossible. For then you will see how much I love you.” If she loves me, then why didn’t she run towards me? Why didn’t she leave her violin? She protected it more than anything in this world. Heck, She DIED protecting it. I know this is precious to her but I really wanted to destroy the very instrument that killed her. That she loved, more than me. 

Here I go, I lifted up the violin and somehow the wind encouraged me to do so. I thought of her hugging this violin. Kissing it good night every evening. Loving it more than she ever loved me. 

Finally, with the crescendo of the wind, I smashed the violin into pieces. 

Actually, then I saw a note attached inside a piece. I picked it up and read the contents carefully and cried.

In the note reads:

My beloved Joseph, 

Finally, you broke my violin. It’s okay.

It was my most precious thing, well except that it was only second to you. 

You see, I wanted to show you my love through showering this with love so that when I’m far away, you have part of me there. I wanted this to be treasured by you.

Do you know why I named it Emi? It’s a Japanese name for a beautiful blessing but no, I’m not referring to my instrument but you.

How do I know that you might break it? I knew that you can’t stand a memory once it’s gone. If I’m gone, I know that you may break the violin which is fine with me.

I know I can’t say this in person but you make my heart go crescendo more than a piano could do, you create a soothing melody more than a violin could do and you are always perfect in harmony which some orchestras can’t have.

I love you more than music can express. 

With music and love,

G.L.

Her initials burned into my mind and eyes. There I cried and cried. I never knew she possessed such a tremendous love for me. I should have known.

The next day, I brought a violin in honor for her. I put it with the pieces of her old violin and made a room her shrine. 

I miss her.