Paper Sky
Information:
- Source: Open Letters Notebook
- Key: D Major/B Minor
- Measures: 48
- Parts: Cello and Piano
- Duration: 3:13 Min
- Pages: 4 Pages
Dear Pyotr,
I know you can’t read this. There’s no mail to the past, and even if there was, you probably wouldn’t understand most of what I’m saying. But I’m writing anyway, because talking to you feels more real than talking to most people alive today.
I know this is a strange way to start a letter. Explaining the Internet and what a blog is to a man from 19th-century Russia would take more patience than either of us has. So let’s skip that part.
I’ll just imagine you’re somewhere, sitting at a desk with that familiar look of mild irritation mixed with curiosity — the kind an old friend might have when hearing from someone unexpectedly, even if that someone is from 2026. Fair enough. I have questions I don’t expect you to answer, but maybe you can give me some advice.
HURRICANE WINDS #
Let me begin by telling you that If you look at the world today, it feels like we’re stuck in the middle of a massive, invisible hurricane. We get hit from one side, dodge it, and then get smacked from another. And yet, we’re all just supposed to keep going and act like everything is fine.
I’m sure you get it. Things change, people move on, and nothing really lasts — except for human stupidity. That seems to be the one thing that never goes out of style. If anything, the storm is just getting worse.
I think we’re all products of the chaos we deal with, but then life likes to remind me I’m supposed to “behave.” I get the concept, I really do. But just getting through the day is hard enough, and staying in line has never exactly been my strong suit. Some of us — especially me — just aren’t wired to follow the rules until someone actually gives us a damn good reason why they’re there.
A TREACHEROUS HEART #
I know every action has a reaction. You probably knew that better than most, though I’m not talking about music this time. Sometimes a treacherous heart blinds you, and before you know it, you’ve gone over the edge and dragged someone else down with you. Other times, I’m the one lying on the ground, wondering what just happened.
Life seems to like this game of taking us up for a while, then sending us down without warning. I remember my first kiss clearly. I also remember my first heartbreak, which came soon after, because life likes to give you the full experience.
I was young and clueless. Love and hate got tangled up, and my heart — young and way too dramatic — broke into a thousand pieces. I cried. I laughed. Then I laughed and cried. I told myself I was happy, even though most of it was just false hope.
It was the late 1980s, and I was sure that if I never saw him again, my life was over. Well, I never saw him again. And, as you can see, I survived. The human heart is tougher than we think. Or maybe it just forgets the pain pretty well.
Despite all that, I guess my inner compass, along with the heart I’d already broken, is what’s kept me alive and mostly sane for fifty-four years. Not always perfectly, but I’m still here.
Even now, I sometimes look back and wonder what might have been. There’s a little nostalgia for the life I didn’t have, but there’s also something comforting about the things that never happened. Some roads are better left untraveled, even if we spend years wondering where they might have led.
How different would my life have been?
That, my dear Pyotr, is the question.
THE ART OF HURTING #
Allow me to make a pause here because, there’s one thing I want to share with you: I am convince you don’t need to be an expert in ethics or religion to realize that what we do can hurt people. You’d think that’s obvious, but it really isn’t, otherwise, the world would be a better place.
The sad part is that pain is pretty much unavoidable. And to make it worse, people find it way easier to hurt than to help, to tear things down rather than build them up, and to pick a fight instead of actually listening. We’d rather choose violence over peace and ruin someone else’s success rather than help them out.
It’s almost like an art form. Some people even treat it like an exhibition — showing off their cruelty as if it’s some kind of virtue, just waiting for someone to tell them how “well” they’ve done. But tell me, Pyotr, was it always this way?
Did people back in your day act like this? Did they hurt each other and destroy things they didn’t understand just because they could, and then make up some noble-sounding excuse for it? I have a feeling you’re going to tell me nothing has really changed. And honestly? That’s both comforting and depressing at the same time.
I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT #
But it’s not only people hurting other people. We’ve become pretty good at doing damage on a much larger scale. Institutions turn against the very people they’re supposed to serve, while we keep treating the natural world as if it were an endless supply of raw material. But nature reminds us that it has limits.
Sometimes I think we’ve treated this planet like a wet rag: twist it, squeeze it, wring it out, and then wonder why there’s nothing left. With every turn, the pressure gets a little tighter, and we’re surprised when things start falling apart. But this is where music comes to my rescue.
You probably don’t need me to explain that part to you. But tell me Pyotr, was there a piece of music that came to your rescue when life became too much? Something you played or heard when words simply weren’t enough? I wonder if you ever had a piece that felt as if it understood you better than any person could.
I remember the song I kept playing after my heartbreak was Everything but the Girl’s “I Don’t Want to Talk About It.” It didn’t fix anything, of course. Music rarely does. But for a few minutes, it made the pain easier to carry.
A LITTLE ADVICE #
And that brings me to the real reason I’m writing to you, my friend.
I’m composing a piece for cello and piano. I’m hoping it will do for me what that song has done all these years: help me make sense of things, or at least make them a little easier to carry. I suppose that’s one of the reasons we compose in the first place. We take whatever is bothering us, confusing us, or refusing to leave us alone, and turn it into music.
But I could use some advice.
You’ve been through love, loss, disappointment, loneliness, and more than your fair share of emotional complications. You also managed to turn quite a bit of it into music, which makes you a good person to ask. The problem is, I’m not sure whether I’m trying to rescue myself with this piece or just giving my troubles a nicer soundtrack.
What do you think, Pyotr?
Where do I go from here?
PAPER SKY #
There’s something else I’ve learned along the way: hurting someone on purpose seems to be something only humans do. Animals can be violent, of course, but as far as I know, they don’t sit around inventing elaborate reasons to justify, or completely deny it afterward. Humans are capable to justify and deny it while looking directly in the eyes. How so very scary, eh?
Perhaps that’s why I’ve always thought it important to understand why rules exist in the first place. Once you understand them, you can decide which ones deserve to be followed and, without too much guilt, which ones can be told to go to hell.
I have a feeling that is what this whole thing is about, Pyotr. We spend our lives looking up at the sky, trusting that it is solid and permanent, when perhaps much of what we believe about life is nothing more than paper stretched above our heads. We paint it blue, hang our hopes from it, and pretend it will protect us from the storm.
Until the wind comes. And then the paper tears.
For sure that is why I keep composing. Music doesn’t repair the sky, and it certainly doesn’t stop the storm. But for a few minutes, it gives me something to hold on to while the paper is flapping around above my head. I suppose that’s what I’m trying to do with this new piece. Build a little shelter under a paper sky.
I realize now that this is probably what I’m asking of the piece: not to fix anything, not to explain anything, and certainly not to save the world. Just to offer a little comfort for a few minutes. Maybe that’s all music can do. Maybe that’s all we can ask of it.
So, my friend, if you happen to have any advice from wherever you are, I’d be grateful. I’m still trying to figure out how to live under this paper sky without letting the whole damn thing collapse on my head.
Until then, I’ll keep writing.
Sheet Music Archive
Published Score.
The complete work is available for consultation and download.