At Midnight

At midnight the gathering ends and the dream becomes a luxury, like a paper kite hanging by a thread, alone among the stars, held only by me — if I let go, it will fly away.

She said: Nothing lasts. Happiness is a shy bird, difficult to catch, and it will flutter away from its cage. So release the longing in your heart. I do not ask you to enter a burning house with me.

— And the secret of our meeting? — What use is a secret if you tell no one?

He grasped his glass, the dregs touching his trembling lips, and the lights went out. Silence remained the hardest part of the moments that followed. He had no shadow left to hide behind. One may dodge a spear, but it is difficult to evade the hidden dagger.

So this is loss. What use is tormenting oneself? Sometimes you must know how to lose in order to win. Let go of nostalgia and sip a cup of kindness for old times’ sake. Nothing lasts. It is not your job to search people’s hearts. The train departs from the station every day — all you have to do is step off.

He awoke from his dream. No one was there but tables weary from the night’s talk, the echoes of lovers’ songs resounding through the space, chairs vacated by their occupants, a waiter waking him, and a distant voice ringing in his memory:

Whoever gave you love, return it twofold.

— It is time to leave. No one remains here but us. And no one hears your soul’s scream. — But I want to fall like rain, and stay in the place I belong to. — But the place is no longer what it was, after being violated by strangers and overtaken by ruin. Yet ruin may be a path to transformation. Perhaps we must welcome endless waves of change, so the place may return — beautiful, a haven for love, longing, and songs of passion.

Perhaps. Sometimes all one needs is a single courageous step forward.