the threads in her head

The song has ended.

She stood there, as the notes slowly faded off. Her heart still strummed those tender notes, and she closed my eyes, pulling the notes in, closer to her. And the melody was alive in her heart, in her blood, rushing through every nerve of her being. Memories came, bright and clear. Flashing. Going. She never had them so vivid before. And she drowned in the clarity as she embraced those notes.

Eyes opened to see a world of grimy grey. Night had fallen, spreading her wings of darkness across the cities. The dim orange glow of the street lamps was the only light source, but even then, it was a dusky kind of light. Sounds of shuffling shoes, hurried garbled voices on the phone. Her eyes were bright black against white, but for an instant, sadness and pain clouded it. She shook her head, cleared her vision. Hair flew into her eyes, and hands swept it away. And then she heard the tinkling of coins.

Her eyes moved down, and right before her eyes lay a man. Dressed in rags, tattered and torn, with wrinkles all over his body. So very old, almost like a fossil, fading into the pavement, into the cracks of the grey slab of cement. A rust-stained harmonica lay by his side as his tired hands stretched for his treasure - his money of the day. Cradling the bowl to his chest, he picks up his harmonica, and rises.

He was not shaven. Hair, meat, dirt, rags rose up, tall but defeated. She stood a distance away, gazing. Their eyes connected.

And she realised with a jolt the music played in him too. It was different, yet the same, and for that one instance, they swirled together. Looks never did kill. They only connected two souls and send them flying, shaken out of their world. Their music played in beat, her heart ached and heaved, and she could not breathe. The man was so colourful and deep, but the colours was not a bright myraid swirl. It was deeper than that, but still as bright, as vivid, as clear.

Lights flashed, stars shone, moon gleam. They disconnected, but the notes and colours stayed. She walked towards him. Steps that were small, but not hesistant, holding an unknown purpose. She came to him. She held his hands. And then she broke contact. Her hand went deep into her purse, and she pulled out a fifty. She folded it up, and placed it in the bowl. And she left.

And the world had one more person alive with sorrow.