NOTE: this is a sequel. Please read 'MUSIC FROM ANOTHER ROOM' to fully understand this story. Please do not read this if you feel satisfied with Music from another room.

In experience, I believe what she says. Music and love are two different things, but perhaps her metaphor was what set me off. It was true, I knew. Perhaps this music could be Beethoven, or Vivaldi, or even KISS. It all wouldn't matter. It all stuck to me. Solidity and all of it's force was engraved into my mind. I would never forget it-just like she said. "Even years from then, when you're sitting on the benches, waiting for a subway, you hear the music still playing in your head." And it was true. The tune was everflowing, just repeating itself, over and over, redundant, but not annoying. I somehow never got sick of it, no matter how many times it replayed in my head, it never occurred to me that it could somehow be anything less than amazing.

For me, it was Eva Cassidy's Fields of Gold. She'd play it, late at night, when I was just coming home, and I could hear the sweet bars of melody just waft through the air and the closer I came to it, the sweeter it became. Every night, the same sounds, every day, the same thing. But never was I sick of it.

I remember specific occurences in my life and these were one of the very few.

It was Sunday night, and I came home, late once again. It was cold and rainy, just like the night we had met. And when I walked in, there was no music. No smooth, melliflous sounds, just silence. This silence was loud, screaming in my face, threatening me.

I remember running, I don't remember where to. I remember feeling the rain hit my face, my clothing, my already soaked shoes. I remembered feeling so rampant, so eager to feel something real again. And where had that feeling gone? Nowhere. But at the time, I had thought that I had lost it. Perhaps I was naïve. Perhaps I was letting the inner boy in me think that this was some lost and found game. That once it was lost, it could only be found again. But I was wrong. In real truth, I had never lost anything. In everything seemingly gone, her spirit was still there. Her love was still there.

I carried that with me. For me, it was a life's lesson. And so, when she went away to the jealous skies, I let her go. But I swear, I would always hear the music. And I think that somewhere along the way, I had made a promise to her that the music would never escape me.

And soon, like she said, I'd be walking along the crowded streets, with screaming people, and people pulling me in wayward directions, but yet, the music just came to me instantly. No more music from another room. Just music….from my head, and from somewhere deep in my heart.

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in fields of gold