by Gloria Pickens

Created on: October 04, 2009

Broken by twilight, the sun sets quickly and the cellos grow louder and more passionate. The strings vibrate beautifully against the falling sun, the clouds unsure of their natural color. A tall tree triumphs upon the hill adjacent to my window, its branches are left bare as the leaves abandon them one at a time. Each papery leaf, unique only by its color, detaches itself and glides freely to the ground or wherever it chooses as its home until Thursday, when the wind will decide another fate. The cellos weep as darkness moves in, left only with the insignificant flicker of burning candlelight. I close my eyes but the orchestra as a whole is still omitted and the cellos are all that will ever remain. The bow administers the strings to come alive and wipes their tears. The salty stream trickles down the four metal strings and is stolen by the intruding horse hair that moves liberally from wire to wire. Notes turn from dark to light and I can suddenly see by this miniscule flame which now becomes powerful enough to bring light to the whole room. The walls reflect the flare and shadows are cast in all directions from various objects surrounding the melting wax. The cellos begin to die and the flame flickers away without the fervor provided by the instruments. And the darkness prevails. It's only life, she said, but one day we'll be free. One day our chains will break and our souls can soar like they've always dreamed of. Away from the hearts who have burdened us without reason. Away from the taunting memories of past mistakes and hypocrites. Freedom from the strangers I claim to love. You'll look into my eyes and all you'll see is green. Not a metaphor for greed or envy, but the color of my eyes. You will see nothing more only because you don't want to. I'll weep into my pillow every night with the knowledge that I may very well be the world's best kept secret. I have a lot to say and no one to talk to. Fly to the stars, my dear. Give yourself what you've always been taught to give to others. To the ones who steal your heart and are never to be seen again. Only until they come crawling back to you after your heart was shattered, begging for a new one to keep them going. Denial will put them to rest and justice is served once more. But you can't have my dreams. My heart beats to my own tune and will never change for anyone. Be yourself, she said. I am myself. Why don't you go lie down in the corner and take a spoonful of your own advice. One day the cellos are going to sing without experience.

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