Her Melody

Act 3

The bridge is quiet in the middle of the night on a Saturday. 

I look back at the coffee shop where Lyric and I met. Someone taps me on my shoulder.

"Note?" He says, beckoning with his finger. I place a paper into his hand and he stamped it. 

Few people are walking across. The discomfort of the closing sky feeds the fire of loneliness inside me, so I slip my hands into the pocket of my torn jeans. The sigh of cold air pokes the holes, gracing my skin with a softness I wish I could keep. 

The buildings grow larger in my sight. The lights seem to only glisten brighter. As I get closer and closer, a familiar melody makes its way into my mind, snagging onto my throat like I'm a fish that's struggling against a rod. While the tune is familiar, I hear words along with the notes, the beat.

"Strike for the time I lost 

my heart. 

Strike for the time we fell

apart.

Living quite so soundly I had given us some hope-

but I wasn't so sure of  what was to become

of me-

of you."

I look at the paper in my hand. The paper from Lyric. Yesterday, I had expected there to be some kind of note, or even a gift. But instead, I opened it in the afternoon of today to find nothing but one word.

"Say goodbye to your love, 

say goodbye to your hope.

Live another day to find it again

This is the city, the city, the city..."

I rubbed my eyes, which were dry with the overuse of tears. I had wondered so many times as to what was in the beautiful city, as to what it was and what was in it. But I feel my sight blurring. Stinging. My heavy eyelids drop down.

"She was there for you, 

you were there for her.

This is the city of your loss, 

where you can gain it back.

This is your melody, her melody,

our melody."

I stop at the edge of the bridge, looking at the note one last time before setting it over the edge. It's illuminated by the lights of the city, wet by my tears and dried from realization. I watch it sink down, listening to the melody play over and over and I realize that's what Lyric was humming yesterday.

The water seeps into the paper and I watch the ink spread. The loops and curves are disappearing, yet I wish I could fall too.

I look at the city and it almost seems like the lights have dimmed. It almost seemed like it was crumbling into pieces. Crumbling from the perfection that was lighted upon it before.

Lyric, Lyric.

I sing my own lyrics to the beautiful melody that she sang to me, the tears reignited and streaming down into their own lands, rivers, lakes, ponds.

She sang to me on the day I met her.

She sang, she sang to me.

I will sing to you, Lyric.