I recently had the opportunity to have a look into a shul's genizah (that's where they keep religious items that are no longer used). Here's my first attempt to verbalize my feelings. There will probably be more.
I entered with the solemnity of the approach to a deathbed. I didn't know what to expect, but I was sure it would end in tears.
The quiet in the room was perfect. Nothing stirred. Waiting... waiting.
Then from the silence rose the whisper of time. It slowly crept out from the wrinkles, seeping through cracks to harmonize with the stillness. Sensing my listening ear, the voice of the ages grew stronger and began to flow.
I was deeply attracted to it. How could I fulfill my mission? There was a song in the room, a soundless tune that echoed off the walls. It was beautiful, bitter yet sweet, rising from the dust to proclaim its life. Spellbound, I wondered how I could be the one to silence it, the harbinger of death. It was a task for the heartless, I thought, not for a lover like me.
There was pain in the song. Listening closely, I began to realize that it was not directed at me. It was the pain of a soul abandoned far from home. It was a call, an entreaty to give it one last chance, to bring back the glory of its youth in its final days.
I am still sure it will end in tears, but I am also happy. I am happy to grant last respects to an old friend. I am happy I am the agent, instead of a heartless brute. Most of all, I'm happy I was able to hear.