This piece of sory came to me this night, about 2 a.m. in the morning, when I lay in my bed and coulnd't find sleep, because this particular song wouldn't disappear from my mind, this 'the rose' by Bette Midler. And of some reason, this story came to me; so here it is.

It's set after the end of ALW's movie, not after leroux's book, I think. But read it yourself - and afterwards: review plese.

And the soul

afraid of dying,

that never

learns to live…

-------------

My life, my love

Now, I'm back – for one last time.

Again, I have made my way downstairs, to this place in darkness, where you are no more.

I won't find you here, I know that. But with this air I breathe down here, it seems something of you has stayed, that is still here waiting for me - waiting for me to say finally goodbye.

Look, there is your organ, where you sang for me. And all the chandeliers, that spent their light, when I saw you falling before me on your knees, crying. Their candles will never burn again.

And here, in the little light of my torch, I can see sheets of paper, scattered on the floor, full of notes – sheets of music. But I won't hear your music again.

You were my angel.

Did I betray you?

Yet, I won't apologize, because I don't think I'm worthy your forgiveness.

But see, I was afraid. I never knew this kind of love that can burn as bright as your love for me did. I never knew.

And so I turned from you, afraid – perhaps afraid of myself, and of the feelings that started to grow in my heart.

Oh, what do I see there? The musical box. Should I dare to start it again? To make it play its beautiful tones once more through this lair of growing silence?

No, I don't have the courage to invoke all of the memory. I couldn't stand it.

And so I remain here in darkness and silence, with my little life and my little heart full of grief and loss – and longing.

Always me, making the wrong decision. I did, didn't I? Never knowing, what my heart is telling me.

But now, all is quiet. And I won't find you here.

I won't find you anymore.

And the temptation, to rest my head on this cold stone, just there, where you held me, unconscious, in your arms for the first time – to lay my head down there and close my eyes and simply die.

But I must not think of thoughts like that. He needs me too. You see, I'm a bride now – his bride. And he loves me, of that I am sure. Not that kind of love, not that fire and yearning, desire, pain and tears and…

But there are many kinds of love – and it is love. He will be a caring husband, a solicitous father – after all, he is a good man. And in a way, I will be…

Happy - strange thing to say down here.

I must go now, he waits for me.

Just one last glance behind.

I wonder why I feel like Eurydice, now climbing down into the underworld herself – but not finding her love anymore.

Never again.