A man sits alone at a small round table. His hands are clasped and brought to his face. The eyes of this man are blue and pained. The reflections in them are of regret and fatigue. They tire not from having too much but from a lacking. The eyes desperately search and reveal nothing. Solitude cloaks him like clouds over the sun. An aloneness that bores through the very center of his soul can be felt, tangible to the ones that dare to witness his sorrow. No burden rests so heavy as the weight of envy. The coveting of happiness, that seems so easily attained by all others, cuts a gash in his heart. Nothing emerges from the wound; he is empty. He grasps at his imaginations, clinging to what he believes should be. He battles the dreams, rage always the victor. His aggrieved whispers resonate through the hall where he sits, speaking back to him confirmation of his agony.
He sits in the grandest of ballrooms. Encased in black marble and brass, the room shines a soft golden hue, blushing in its brilliance. Pillars line the hall, majestic in their own solitude. Silence is the spirit that floats though this room, mocking and spiteful. The grandeur of the room belies only the existence of a dying soul. The man places his hands still clenched on the table and bows his head. He is dejected, beaten, enslaved by the sorrow that wells deep within. Then, a beam of light reflects on the table and breaks the darkness under his eyes. The light was warm and enticing and caused the man to raise his head to the front of the room. There, bathed in a radiant beam of white light, was a woman, his woman, and his dream. She strode across the large ballroom floor with an agility and elegance. Her movements were effortless and her form was perfect. She wore a red dress, which hung on her frame with a shocking sensuality. Her shoulders were exposed revealing her olive skin. The man, noticeably shaken by the vision that broke his despair, stood motionless awaiting this unexpected guest. She halted and smiled. He looked not at her but upon her. To call her beautiful was to tarnish the dream. She was without fault, without influence of life’s negativity, bastardized by nothing and no one. The man knew now that heaven existed for him. She stepped to him, her brown eyes ablaze with passion. The man, mouth agape, breathed quick and heavy as she began to speak.
“I am Life,
I am Dream,
I am Serenity,
I am Love.”
The man, knowing not what to say, reaches his hand to the one he had searched for his entire life and caressed her angelic face. The words then flowed from his lips, “Dance for me.” And she did. There was no music in the hall but in his mind was a glorious noise, a symphony to accompany his angel. My God she was beautiful as she twirled.
Her sparkling eyes closed in rapture. She danced and he was set free, free from the bonds of his own desire. The man’s eyes closed to the glory he was experiencing, his hand to his chest feeling his heart pound. He had found the answer to his rage. Then she stopped, and the music faded from his mind. She turned to him, her bright eyes, so loving, piercing his being.
No sound…”I love you.” She turns and walks to the light. His hand outstretched…”no.” She turns her head over her shoulder, bows it down and fades away.
A man sits alone at a small round table…