metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Holding Hands The 32nd floor apartment had floor to ceiling windows all across the western wall. It was late afternoon in early spring and the room was bright with the last rays of sun as it was setting. It was not a quiet sunset, but one of those where sun says, �I am leaving, but I am leaving in a blaze of glory � you will remember me.� The two sat next to each other on the white leather sofa, holding hands, not speaking. With so much to say to each other, words failed; and so they sat. They didn�t have much time, each knew, still they said nothing. They held hands as children do, tightly and surely and it seemed they had no intention of letting go. They didn�t have much time. It was getting close to the time when each had to leave. They each had a certain peace about it, although the peace did not assuage the pain. They each knew the other would always remember; how could they not remember one who held their heart? And the hearts were the thing. Although the room was silent, their hearts were speaking nonstop, crying and clinging. Their hearts had decided to run away together, the logistical problem was how to do it when the rest of the body was so resistant. And so their hearts hit upon a compromise, very unlike their hearts. A piece of each heart would leave and live together entwined in love throughout eternity in a little gold box locked with a silver key. The room was darkening, the sun had slipped behind the horizon; boy and girl were standing now holding both hands, her head to his chest, his cheek resting on her hair. Hearts were silent and despondent. She raised her head for one last kiss as he turned his lips toward her at the same moment. Even in goodbye, they were in sync. The one last kiss washed over them like a warm breeze, caressing sweetly caressing. Hearts sang one last song, filled with all the notes ever played in this world and the next. And then he walked to the door, still in silence. For what could be said, that hadn�t been said a million times before? This was goodbye, and they had made peace with it; but the peace was not, nor ever would be, without the pain. 8:51 a.m. - 2006-03-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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