It’s night, and the soft satin sheen of the sky spills over me in a sombre silence. It’s late. And very, very quiet. The soft pitter-patter of feet alert me to something other than myself and my musings. I turn, and there she is. A beauty of Byronic verse personified, of cloudless climes and starry skies indeed. I gaze at her, wisps of moonlight sighing down from heaven clothe her in a silvery glow unmatched by mortal design. I know her. Very well do I remember the subtle contours of her face, the lips slightly open as if in surprise, the dark velvet hair trembling carelessly past her shoulders, and the eyes, almost tear-stained, questing and questioning for answers she’ll never find.
She is beauty, she is life. She is as a I remember her, so amazingly vibrant and beautiful, so full of the spark and flame of passion, so… alive. For moment, a heartbeat of eternity, our eyes meet. Soul to soul speaks that which is unheard, beyond scribe or poet, a sound unheard by symphonies beneath the clouds.
I long, I dream, I wait.
The moment is over, and she looks away into the far night, her eyes whispering an unasked question to the depths of the moonlit expanse. I follow her gaze towards the marble marker I know too well is there. We stand there, a sad silent figure beneath the gloom of moonlight, and I there watching her.
Softly, her steps scarce but a sibilant sigh on the satin blades of grass grass, she seems to glide past me. She stands there, her eyes silent and questioning. She looks up and her eyes move to the skies, her vision traced by moonlight. She closes her eyes as the rays of heaven caress her face in ghostly luminescence. A single tear spills forth and I reach out towards her to brush it from her face.
Almost, faintly, I can just believe that I can catch that single tear, to be able to hold her, be a part of her again. But her skin shies from my touch and my fingers slide past as if through little more than mist. The tiny droplet of silent sorrow continues its trail down her face, catches for a moment, then falls, tumbling trembling down to disappear as if it had never been.
She turns, and my breath catches as she looks towards me, but her eyes don’t see mine, and her gaze continues on through towards the depths of night. She looks up at the sky again and I follow her gaze. The rain has begun to fall.
We stand there, almost together, but eternities apart, the rain falling a cleansing shower that would wipe all away save for the sorrow still in my soul. I remember a single night such as this and feel the rains pouring my sorrow through my soul.
I look to her again, and she is still standing facing the moonlight, her tears flowing freely through lids softly shut. I long to hold her once again, for one last minute together to tell her everything, but the cold stone we stand by tells of chances once given and now lost. She lowers her face and wipes at her eyes, brushing away tears I once soothed.
She takes in her gloved hand, a single rose, and sets it down. She lingers for a few more seconds, then slowly, turns to leave and I can do little but look and listen to the fading of her steps in the rain.
It’s silent now. The rain is but a fading memory and the mists rise. Once again, I am alone in the night, and the soft satin sheen of the sky spills over me in a sombre, still, and stony silence.
It’s Valentine’s, so I thought I’d do a romantic one. Sort of.
I’ve been working on a few of these, all a bunch of stories revolving around questions of life and of death. I already have a title for them, “Tales of the Sad Man” named after one of my other stories.
Photo courtesy of the excellent PDPhoto.org