Humans are posessive. We hold on to things that are precious to us with an unyielding tightness. We grip with such vigor as to leave a permanent imprint upon our skin; we completely exhaust our strength, holding on to the point of self-harm. Even after something manages to escape us, we quickly fill the void it leaves with memories. We refuse to forget. We will fabricate them if need be. We hang on to this bastardized version of what it is we used to love, with fear. The fear of loss, the fear of change, the fear of letting go.
Halfway through Kreisler’s “Love’s Sorrow”, Kousei realizes that what he had been holding onto all along was not his mother’s ghost, but his own fears of a life without her. As a child he had willed her to appear in his mind, and refused to say goodbye. The imperfections in his childhood memories lead the image have a twisted appearance, and struck Kousei with dread. It lead his musical career to ruin. If he could not remember his mother, how could he remember his music? Upon his newfound realization, Kousei was able to give both himself, and his mother, release.