Her Song

I uncomfortably settle into the hard wooden chair that sits alone in the corner of the room and light my last cigarette; its glowing red cherry is the only thing that illuminates the room as the smoke dances around freely to tune of it’s crackling with my every pull. I sit as still as a statue for a moment before opening the only window that complements the room, the frigid wind rushes past me as if it were impatiently waiting to enter. The whistling of the wind and the crackling of my cigarette harmoniously collaborate to make a familiar tune that I so often hear; however, this time, I hear her voice.

I peek out of the window to see if she is there and see nothing, but the singing continues. As her voice becomes clearer so does her lyrics. She sings about how intrigued she is with the night. How the the darkness makes her come alive and she transforms into a different person, her true self, and how free she becomes. How her perception of the world is different and things shape into what the light can’t capture; the way she sings this to me shows me beauty within the darkness. But, her next verse is full of pain. She begins to sing about the loneliness the night brings. How the unfamiliar voices that slice through the silence and the shadows who try to accompany her without invitation frightens her. And, then there is me; the one who left her to entertain herself amongst the emptiness of a cold room.

As the cigarette reaches the filter, I shut the window. The harmonious melody stops and the dancing smoke soon fades away but, the bitter sweet song she sang, though it is over, still plays on in my head.