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He spoke no words yet he made everyone cry.
Speeches had been made, words shared, memories phrased.
Nothing was as powerful as him.
Spencer sat behind the piano, the small gathering was completely silent. All eyes on him. Yet he didn't notice, he was completely wrapped up in the music. His thin fingers deftly danced over the keys raising the soft melody from the hard ivory keys.
He'd learned this piece for her. He kept his eyes down, locked on his hands, perfecting every note. How could he forget it? It's been the only thing he's done for two weeks.
The music carried him far away from the audience, far from the church, far from the coffin. Only he and Maeve were left.
Tears made their solemn procession down his cheeks, as though they themselves carried her coffin. He let them fall. His chest and throat ached with held back tears, gasps and screams all were clawing to be released. He kept them back. Internalising his pain, yet vocalising it through his music.
He envisioned her, not still and cold but glowing with life and vitality. There was so much to her that she shone with it, immediately filling others with her own glow. Her dark hair reflecting the light that haloed her, her deep and whole eyes smiling back at him, dancing with love and hope.
The tiny hammers hit the strings from which a delicate tune was sewn. He let the music take him far away. He allowed himself to close his eyes, remembering her.
The crescendo made him sway, he was so enraptured by the piece that he was moving, swaying, drowning in it.
His world shrunk to just him and her standing in a pool of glowing white light. She smiled at him, making the light seem dim, unsubstantial. Then she began to walk away from him. The light began to envelop her. He called out, stretching his hand.
Please...please don't leave.
Gradually the light frayed and darkness burrowed into his sight. He forced his eyes open, forcing himself to see reality. It was the hardest thing he has ever had to do.
The piece was coming to a slow end, as the song finished he felt as though he'd said a final goodbye to Maeve, that this piece was his speech, his goodbye. It was theirs.
The final notes played and dissipated to nothing. He didn't move. He sat. Silent. No sound was heard. A tear could be heard falling. His hands slid from the keys into his lap. Head bowed.
He stood up, walked past her coffin, past his team, past the glistening eyes of the fellow mourners and out into the rain. Even the sky was grieving with him.
He said no words, yet he was more powerful than engine else in the entire world.