They sat on patio and spoke of songs and music as evening ceded place to night, bright of the sun giving way to porchlight bulbs in stranded hang and stars in the cosmic depths.
Song played that they knew, and of it he spoke, “I love sometimes how a whole song builds and waits for single line and sound, like in life and conversations whose whole meaning waits for movement to what it is one really wants to say.”
She listened in muse, agreeing in smile and eyes and laughter that bubbled in flowing free of their conversation.
Light shone in his eyes, of porchlight source and too in life of the spirit he shared, alluding to song in air.
“And what is the line this song builds to say?” she asked in play and jest and truth of curiosity.
Change in melody, more than bridge, “Same as our conversation,” he answered in raise of finger and close of eyes as lyric sang:
“I’M BESET WITH WHAT WE COULD BECOME!”
Eyes opened after, meekened smile and recede from the free and bold as silence told in stare as lyrics spoke what he never did; wait and movement and finally speak of what both truly wished to say.
“It doesn’t rhyme. It doesn’t match. There’s no other similar sound in all the song. That line is his truth he wished to tell, and now he has.”
Light dimmed from his eyes. His spirit receded from porchlight near to distance, hint-light of stars in distance as he, like song, came down from crescendo high.
Her stomach hollowed in sudden and dramatic of the change, and she wished again their gleam. Understanding arrived in moment and line of crescendo-bold masked in words and melody.
_____
“From now on, don’t let it trouble your mind…”