Grey Light

17. Sunrise; or, "Of Endings & Continuations"

17. Sunrise; or, "Of Endings & Continuations"

        The overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of nostalgia and sadness - only music could dispel it, and of course it was better when she played herself; but how could she, when every note, every rest, every page and every measure held a reminder of what had been just a mere sunrise ago?

        And that, too: sunrise. The faint dawn light that had her wondering if they were late. Walking through the quiet town, seeing his friends, passing all the places she had spent the past six weeks in.

        The silence of the river - the last passerby who said "Good morning" as they exchanged places on the bridge - at last, alone...from soft blue shadows to the first peak of light over the horizon...to the last - ducks and pebbles and ripples in the water, and sunrise...

        they longed to find that sort of silent peace again

        Then: the return. The trains getting ready for their 7 am departure. Warm sunshine now illuminating everything that had been dreaming when they passed the first time. All the little things lighting up - snatches of words, short phrases - the impending end...

        They stopped at the gates, on an island between roads, and he held his head close to hers. And they walked on - steadily and quickly despite her heart's silent plea to stay - and - at last - parted ways - for the last time -

        Now every note of every page is a reminder, and the feel of every black and white key holds a memory. Her song of joy echoes in her head - that is, HIS version does, when he played it - and all the other music of all the others - how can music hold so much beauty and happiness and sadness all at once?

        The full moon smiled at her as she flew home, and finally breathed the familiar scent of summer trees.

        She closed her eyes to remember stars blinking down at her as they lay on a cool, hard soccer turf - stars falling and exploding in a shower of red sparks - and stars that made way for the sun, for the sunrise - the end, the return -

        Now: a new sun, a new sky, a new cloud...

        ...the old ocean, the old trees, home...

        His city - ALL their cities - were hours and hours away. But she was here now, and she was home. And it would be okay - she could pick up the threads of her old life and keep going on. She knew she could.

        (Her first sign: the postcard waiting by her front door.)

        (but

        “You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”)