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No way to say …

21 Aug

night_cafe_sevilla_by_artscientific

Time has become liquid

There is seven of them. They have escaped work, the conference, the day. Comfortable in each other’s company. safe in the velvet night that hovers beyond the candle light, romantic at an outside table beneath the awning sky of a restaurant just off La Rambla. The evening is drenched in intimacy and alcohol. They are gently, sometimes noisily, submerged in a warm sea of easy acquaintance which sees them laugh, and chatter, and tell stories, and become friends.

It is getting late. It will be an early start for all of them to travel home to their various countries. Yet clocks mean nothing. They want the time to stretch and yawn, but not show its hands.

But they must go.

He starts to sing. An ancient Leonard Cohen song of leaving that he has known forever from someone else’s life. His voice is hesitant at first, but deep, rich and dark. The others are quiet. Perhaps they do not know the words, or are happy for him to touch the night with the poetry they feel. There is sorrow in the song, but gratitude for what has been shared.

Her voice joins his on the ‘many’ in the fifth line. It is pure and innocent and holy. It lilts and drifts above his own.  It harmonises and caresses and then soars and swoops. It glides and caresses, softens and lifts. It thrills the air, and him. She is an angel from a heavenly choir.

As she sings with him he watches her. Her green eyes stay on him, her brave, almost slavic features are heroic and lovely, bathed in the flickering light. A mane of thick blonde hair cascades over her shoulders as she tilts her head towards him.

They reach the end and improvise an ending which dances, then tumbles, falls, and finally soothes like a lullaby, achingly into silence.

It is a rare moment. There is a hushed, almost electric pause before the others applaud and nod appreciative heads. He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

They have become connected, combined, kindred, allied, confederate.

Bound.

 

I will always remember the beauty of your voice, the magic of that moment, and the joy of our union.

And the memory

of ‘your hair upon the pillow, like a sleepy golden storm’

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Peter Ochabski

 
14 Comments

Posted by on August 21, 2014 in Lovers Past

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

14 responses to “No way to say …

  1. Heartafire

    August 21, 2014 at 8:11 pm

    Too beautiful, Mr. D. Thank you for the link, I adore the music of Leonard Cohen.

    Like

     
  2. lesliemeeks

    August 21, 2014 at 8:27 pm

    This is Beautiful. Thank you for sharing this with your readers.

    Like

     
  3. Marian Green

    August 22, 2014 at 3:35 am

    I’m absolutely covered in goosebumps after reading this. I was there.

    Like

     
  4. Miss D

    August 22, 2014 at 7:13 am

    Beautiful

    Like

     
  5. marcus

    August 22, 2014 at 8:13 am

    Written very well as it read beautiful.
    howls
    I thought I was following your blog but it appears I got lost. Good thing M’lle Debra shared this.
    Cheers

    Like

     
  6. georgeforfun

    August 22, 2014 at 6:58 pm

    Reblogged this on georgeforfun.

    Like

     
  7. Reticent Mental Property

    August 23, 2014 at 4:43 am

    Have you read Bel Canto- by Anne Patchett? While reading one can hear her voice, hear the songs, an unexpected capture of sound… the best is to be there, but if we cannot, to revisit through the telling on a page…thank you for this. Good night. -Ret

    Like

     
  8. redklwr2006 Kym

    August 24, 2014 at 4:43 pm

    What a beautiful piece and the musical accompaniment is just perfect. Thank you for sharing

    Like

     

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