Art is powerful. It transcends cultures, languages, and race. It cuts across humanity to build a bridge, where we can all meet and collectively admire something beautiful. It is a neutral ground, where everyone can agree to meditate in peace. When I look at the man on the metro, playing music with a feverish joy, I can’t help but think of the beauty in art. I also can’t help but be reminded of the beauty in the world, and simultaneously its injustices.

My world is filled with brilliant colors, shapes and landscapes. My life is permeating with fragrant aromas, spices and scents. My world is saturated in interesting textures and consistencies. My existence is overflowing with joy, dancing, and love. I also live in silence.

I experience every sensation available to me at its fullest capacity. I live a complete life, and I have never before wished to change a thing about it. However, for some reason, many people see me as incomplete, because I am deaf. I have never seen myself this way. However, lately I have ached for the ability to hear in a way I have never felt before. My turmoil can be fully attributed to the man on the metro.

I do not know this mans name, and I have no way to ask him, though I wish I did. He is reliably stationed at the metro stop I use to get home, and I can’t seem to shake my fascination with him. His appearance in itself warrants attention, as he is very good looking. He dresses sharply, often in a suit, with his dark hair neatly styled. Depending on how bright the day is, his ensemble will sometimes be complete with dark sun glasses. Although he is very handsome, his appearance is not the source of my fascination.

He is always playing music, and never with the same instrument he had the day prior. This interested me immediately once I noticed it, making me wonder how many instruments he owns and how many more he might know how to play. Although this observation intrigued me, it’s also not the reason I can’t seem to shake the Metro Man from my mind.

The reason I can’t stop thinking about him, the basis for my aching heart and newfound discomfort with my deafness, is the way everyone who passes the Metro Man, lights up with joy. I can see how powerful his music is. It is written clearly on the faces and expressions of those who pass him in the metro. He turns mundane, solemn expressions, into smiles of joy. Those who pass by him, begin tapping their feet, swaying their hips and clapping their hands; his music brought to life. He creates a contagious energy in the melodies he shares. I’ve never wanted to experience something so badly.

I think my fascination is also fueled by the fact that I have no way of meeting this man, who has slowly, everyday captured my interest. I am extremely observant, so I realized immediately the barrier keeping me from meeting him. The sheet music in front of him is raised with Braille, a cane propped up against the wall beside him, and a well trained golden retriever sits next to him with a harness noting his purpose. I live in a world of silence, and the Metro Man lives in a world of darkness.

Despite the glaring difference keeping us apart, I imagine that the Metro Man and I are quite similar. His passion for his music is evident, and it mirrors my own passion for my art. The way his body relaxes and his expression grows distance as he encompasses himself in his music, is a physical manifestation of the way I feel when I am painting or drawing. And the joy he sparks in the people on the metro, mimics the reason I share my art with others. I want to ignite happiness, and I imagine the man on the metro does too.

Everyday I pass him, and my longing to meet him increases steadily. I wrack my brain, wondering if there could be a way for me to float a raft over to the island of his separate world. There must be a way for me to shatter this barrier between us. Eventually, my eyes wander again to his Braille sheet music, and an idea blooms in my mind.

I begin studying to prepare for the plan I have created. I purchase the necessary materials, and enroll in a class to take. After an excruciating long time of preparing, I finally have my message drafted, and I feel ready to set my plan in motion.

It’s a dull and cloudy day, when I finally muster the courage to approach the Metro Man. His dark sunglasses are absent, and when I get close to him, I can see that his eyes are a brilliant blue color. I take a few steps closer to him. He is putting his guitar back in its case, packing up for the day. I can tell by the expression on his face that he has heard my approach. He smiles at me, pinning my location with skilled accuracy. I watch his mouth move and I read his lips. He has said hello to me in a friendly greeting. Before I lose my nerve, I gently place my Braille message in his hands. I watch his face contort briefly in confusion before his fingers move over the letter in a skilled flurry. His face slightly scrunches in concentration as he deciphers my message.

Once he finishes reading, his expression turns to understanding. I hold my breath, waiting for his reply. I have told him in my message that I can read lips, so he can reply verbally. I am greatly taken aback when he hands me the Braille pad and proceeds to respond to my letter in sign language. His response lights my heart with joy. When he ends by asking me a question, I respond by nodding my head before I remember that he can’t see me. I instead articulate my response in Braille. He smiles when he sees I have agreed. With delicate fingers he touches the features of my face, ‘seeing’ me in his own way. When he is done, he signs back to me: “Beautiful.”

Hope warms my soul. With this slow, patient conversation, we have chipped away the barrier between us. A deaf girl and a blind man find a space to exist together. Immediately we bond over our immense similarities, and our love for art.

We continue to talk like this eveyday, and eventually our relationship becomes unconditional friendship. He shares more of his music with me, and I share my art with him. We can’t experience the others gift in the traditional way, but I can confidently tell him how I sense his powerful music through the reactions I see in others, and he sincerely informs me he hears the beauty of my art in the praise of those who see it. We do not need an interpreter, we just experience each other in a different way.

Overtime, our relationship transforms into something indestructible and eternal. We succeed in building something far stronger than the obstacles between us. The Metro Man and I, fall in love. More importantly, we rest in love. We exist in love every moment, marinating in it, and seek ways to share our wealth in it with the the world.