Love Song

Tonight, we fall in love. Love, in its action, is indeed a falling of sorts. There is a death in it, a descent into chaos that cannot be described. The thorny stem of a beautiful flower, bittersweet belladonna. A euphoria of the senses, a singing tone whose melody haunts one day and night. I know that song well, and I can still feel the softness of her kiss. It was autumn, and there was a chill in the air that fueled the hurried pace of the New York City streets. In such a busy place, it is difficult to imagine the slow ease of a conversation, but her voice was like a breeze that clung to my ear. Suddenly, the din began to fall away as she revealed the secrets of her heart. Her dream of owning an art gallery, the fight she had with her father the day before, and the love she felt for her autistic younger brother. The jewels of her mind that she so easily placed into my hands suddenly made me feel unworthy. I wondered if she realized how wonderful our exchange had been or how beautiful she had been to me. I was heady with every word she spoke, her fragrance sweet like a deluge of fruits and flowers. Across the street from the bench we were sitting on was a small record shop. I could hear the sound of a familiar song from childhood, but the name was beyond me. I asked if we could walk over so that I could ask what the name was. She said "of course" as we rose to cross the street. As we approached the curb, I realized I had left my phone on the bench and doubled back to get it. I turned away for just a second, only a second. I can still hear the screeching tires and gnashing metal. I turned to see her lying still on the ground a few feet away from where we stood. You see, she had been struck by a speeding cab that jumped the curb after being hit from behind. I was frozen, I had only turned away for a second, just a second.