truths of the world

Long ago, a young woman took it upon herself to find the truest of love the world could offer her.  

In doing so, she came across the sound of melodies - forming underneath the pads of her ten fingers, upon aged keys that played in brilliance with her genius. Her talent lifted audiences from their seats, made papers all across bustling towns far and wide, drew the attention of neighbors and strangers alike who showered her with compliments on the very streets she walked - but, this arc did not quite fit the image she had in mind. 

The young woman ventured forward, discovering a wonderful new excitement for travel. With the money she made from all that music had given her, she was able to see countless, amazing sights - horizons of oceans pink and blue, architecture that withstood the test of time, animals painted with patterns she had never seen before. Each day felt warm and cold, welcoming and uninviting, long and short - she loved it all. This was love for a world so beautiful, so grand that it could never be seen in all of its entirety. Yet, something about the vastness of the sea she once awed at began to feel… a bit empty. And a couple years came to be enough. Perhaps it was the way she would never truly know what lie beyond as far as she could see. But, that was alright. The young woman was satisfied with all that she had experienced on her journey - and carried no lingering feelings for it. In the end, while the feelings she grew for this world were precious, they did not come to carry the weight that would ground her mind, body, and soul to the life of an adventurer. 

Continuing to wander, the young woman returned to one land that knocked on the doors of her conscience each time it began to fade in her memory. It was not a land expansive like valleys of mountains she once trekked, nor was it a land elegant with fancy buildings that lined fulfilled streets. No, this corner of the world was quite… humble. The place she chose to settle for the next few years was entirely different from the village she called her own - yet, it would soon become home. Here, she found more than a curious hobby that would turn into a passionate career. Here, she found more than the allure of turquoise lakes and swooping green hills. Here, she found the truest of love she had ever known. 

And it found her in the shape of a person. 

…

Coincidence. 

Effort.

Fateful events. 

Love. 

Sacrifice.

Effort.

Time. 

…

The young woman, not so young anymore, looked out the window to see two birds flying by, turning the ring on her finger back and forth. Back, and forth. Though wrinkles and bone had changed the shape of her hand, the ring she wore on her finger always remained in place. 

Looking over at a frame on her bedside table, the old woman gazed lovingly at a photo of her husband when he was young. It occurred to her that she wanted the photo to breathe some air - feel the texture of the table the way that she could. Carefully taking the print out of its frame, she traced subtle marks of wear and tear with one finger. 

She smiled. Because goodness, did he look dashing in his youth. 

…

The old woman’s husband had headed out earlier that morning to go for a walk. He always did like to feel the air at dawn - says it reminds him of what it feels like to be alive. But, the sound of hummingbirds and the touch of cool winds grazing his arm did not keep him out for long that day. No, he was beginning to feel a bit hungry. He smiled, thinking of what he and his wife might have for breakfast back at home.

 

…

The creak of a door so familiar is always a sound of peace. And the air of freshly-baked bread is a drooling scent of home. Hanging his hat, the old man walked quietly towards the room where his wife lay asleep. He only made it halfway there though, because darn! Those floors would not keep quiet. Peeking in from where he stood, he could just catch a glimpse of his wife rolled over neatly on her side. He remembered the days he would wake up to her body sprawled across the bed, legs bent in different directions - pillow on the floor. How age had trained her.

The old man decided to go and rewrap the bread he brought home, thinking his wife would not be up anytime soon. And in his efforts, was stopped in his tracks.

Because while the old man liked clear skies and how the sun felt warm on his skin when it leaked through the first moments of dawn, he loved having meals with his wife on the oakwood table that stood sturdy in their home - a table he had built over forty years ago when he could still see the fine streaks of wood without the aid of glasses. 

Says it reminds him of what it means to live. 

…