I don’t know why I cried at Christmas dinner.
Under the calm glow of trees and candles, I looked from my empty plate to the people around me; the welcome smell of cooked roasts reminding me of times once lived, yet never forgotten.
I excused myself – “Just going to the loo”. My back already turned, I left the warmth of the dim-lit room to the empty hallway. With nothing but the floating specs of dust as witness, I succumbed to the desperate pressure in my throat.
Warm tears washed my warm face. My mouth opened to make a noise. I felt it pushing on my tight throat, yet it never left. It left me silent. My vision blurred. A blink of my tired eyes spilled droplets onto my glasses.
“Why?”, I rasped quietly.
The broken silence eased my struggling throat, my stretched cheeks.
The factuality of it all stopped my tears. The irrationality of it all stopped the thoughts.
Hearing the distant laughter of hers, that for whom I had experienced the best and worst of human emotion, told me why.
Everything is changing.
I just love her so much. Please keep her close.
Blink the tears away.
We’re leaving soon. What then? Please give her company.
It was so different when I was young and helpless. When we were together. When we were as one, and not separated. The songs of New York keep me there, along with the tears. They take me back to the time when it was all real, when there was still magic. They stay with me to this day, but like a ghostly passenger, they bring tears. A flashbulb of a simpler time.
I wanted to know why. I may now have the answer.
I am powerless to return, yet the memories remain. Through song and dance, through laughter and sadness, the memories remain, and so does she.