Music Filled the Hollow Places

By Peter Bowden


She sat by the bedroom window, legs crossed beneath her, the worn wood of the sill cool against her skin. The rain tapped against the glass, a gentle percussion, and the gray light of the afternoon filtered through the thin, white curtains. She placed her headphones over her ears, closed her eyes, and let the first slow, haunting notes fill the hollow spaces in her chest.

Sad songs, that’s what she always chose. Songs that ached like the first shiver of autumn or the last notes of a fading piano. They wrapped around her heart, tightening and loosening with every whisper and wail, as if they understood the loneliness that crept into her thoughts in the quiet moments. It wasn’t that she was always sad, but something about the melancholy pulled at her, made her feel deeply, made her world slow down and breathe.

Outside, the rain grew steadier, the water streaking down the glass like the tears she rarely let fall. She hummed along to a familiar line, one she had memorized long ago, her lips moving soundlessly as the music swept her away to a place where every sorrow felt both lighter and heavier at once. The final, lingering chords played out, and for a moment, she kept her eyes closed, breathing in the stillness, feeling the gentle ache that reminded her she was alive, that her heart, though bruised, still beat strong.


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