A Drop of Water

I know, as time passes, things change. I knew that as I walked past these bleak streets filled with unloved wretches, shaking their heads at me, littering the pavement outside local garbage disposals. I knew that because these streets once were clean and safe, and the sun was always shining here. I remembered when the sun used to shine. Most of all, I remembered the last day that it ever shone in this town. That was the night, everything changed, everything was determined. Every silent beat of the rain. Every tear that I was to cry.

I was a man of many ideas, dreams, and most of all love. I was heartfelt and always happy to see my neighbor. I was a revolutionist, like many others were before me. I grew up seeing love everywhere, in the movies, in my parents and in my friends. I wanted to find it out for myself. Like many others before me, I left my home in seeking it. Armed with a head full of ideas, a strong heart and some tools of various artistic trades, I traveled around the English land, visited the Middle East and parts of the Americas. I finally resided in Canada, in a small town in the southern province of Ontario. It was pretty, and I thought I would stay here and put a temporary hold on my constant movement across the world. I did not expect to find anything here. "Big things happen in big places, if not in your mind" my grandfather used to say. To my mother, not to me; I never knew him. My grandfather died shortly after I was born, and so I have no memories of him. My mother would often quote him like this. "A man of great words must have his words remembered, or there won't be much greatness left in his memory." I remember now, my mother always said that about him. One rainy day, I was taking a walk, musing about that particular bit of nostalgia. I had grown up in the tropical parts of the world, and for the little fireball that I was nothing had felt better than a stroll out in the rain. And as I walking the streets, the same streets I walk today, very abruptly, the rain stopped. The sky closed down on my pleasure and I immediately gazed towards the negligent heavens, questioning their reasons. It was then, I saw the most glorious vision in the clouds; I saw the face of an angel. Not the wonderful winged type who glows with forbiddance. Not the kind you cannot touch or approach or speak to, but the kind of angel you yearn to touch, yearn to speak to, and yearn to feel... Such a passion was driven into me that I couldn't help but be in love. I remember, I felt the last drop of water fall down from my hair, the sun, shining through the parting of the clouds towards my face, felt the thought running through my mind, "what if. this will all be over before I know it? What if this is. this is only a dream? What if.?"

Little did I know, what had crossed my mind in those seconds, scared of the idea as I was, would stay with me to this day.

I met her a few days later, at my temporary workplace. She had been there for quite some time. I should have met her before, but for some reason, I had never seen her till now. It was as if she had been invisible to me, and the heaven's little stunt had revealed her. I fell in love. There was no barrier, nothing between us. For several months the only voice that spoke this love was my eyes. I couldn't bring my otherwise gutsy and honest self to word my expressions. "What was this feeling?" I asked myself once. One might have expected such a romantic like me to know first hand. Use words that described love with wings and bits of feathery stuff like that but no. I answered it without the aid of such artist's tools. This is love I said. This, whatever I'm feeling now, this giddiness that I feel, this over zealous joy. This is what I have been in search of my whole life! This was what the world needed to change, if the world had this, there would be no more wars, and there would be no more misery in any part of the world! I was excited; I knew I had to show the world. I had to show the world love, my love and the love that could be theirs too. I wasn't thinking. Such moments of excitement tend to suppress rational thought. As I know now, things would not change; nothing would have except for me. But I thought then that I had to try.

It was near the time of new beginnings. My love was recently planning to go to her homeland to visit her relatives there and come back. She mentioned that she would bring me back a souvenir. It was probably to be a little trinket, a simple toy. And yet, I felt ecstatic! She was going to give me a gift! The very idea itself made me feel like I had truly found someone that cared for me, and maybe something more. I decided that I too would get her a token of our love. By now I had explored her mind a little; I knew something of her likes. Looking back I realize that it was just something meager. Nothing to what could have won anymore of her than I had already. But it wasn't over. There was still Valentine's Day and, if one really wanted to, any day could be special enough.

Five days after New Year, she came back. We then exchanged our gifts. "Arigato Saru-Chan!" "Ah! Merci mon dieu!" "Oh cara."

Languages. It was a new interest to me. I had already known a bit of the world but now, it was more of an appeal. She knew it as well and I learned it from watching the subtitled tapes that appeared in the local movie rental. From a show I had watched, I had given her the nickname Saru-Chan. It was to stand for monkey in the Japanese language; she was just as playful as one. She was, as we may have had a dozens spin-offs of, my monkey-girl. It was just a nickname, to laugh and play about. And to kiss, and to hold hands, and to look deeply into each others eyes in the sunset, side by side on a park bench. Smiling at these dreams I longed to kiss her, longed to touch her, to hold her as close as she was already at my heart. I longed to feel this love coming from her. I longed for her to feel this love like I do. But for the longest time I felt that it was never meant to be, never meant to be anything but a word, used by dreamers and fools.

Finally, it happened. Just one week before the sky chose never to light up again, I found myself next to her. Smiling shyly at her moonlit silhouette, all my effervescent feelings were surfacing as I saw her soft gaze and her gentle lips contour. I reached for her hand to hold, she gave it to me without any further thought. It was obvious, we shared something that night, and I would never forget it. In the light winter evening, a soft wind had begun to blow; my own hands were warm so I offered their gift to her. She smiled again to me. The night air was quiet, we were alone and that's all we wanted. I was still too shy to kiss her, but there was no hurry. I was more than content holding her hand, being close to her, the closest I had ever been to anyone, and unfortunately, the closest I would ever be to her for the rest of my life.

"What is love?" people ask. Asking for the sake of asking. We all know that words have much too little knew that. You knew it too well. You waited maybe just for the purpose of making me realize that the hard way. You crushed me in my moment of weakness to show me that we, as people, don't feel this love. We don't feel it just like you.

One night, I received a letter, and in it, she admitted it to me. She had felt it too, this amazing force that kept her always looking for me. It called from deep inside, for you to seek my face when you pass, to share your heart with me. Everything must start somewhere, I thought. The world was to be a garden that follows in the example of a beautiful rose such as her. This was all I needed to summon up my own courage. I told her then that she wasn't alone. I felt it all too. I had been waiting for her here.

I had thought then that you had understood it all, understood my heart to all of its depth. Somehow, I can't help but wonder how wrong I could have been.

All of a sudden, I found that I couldn't breathe. My insides churned in this sea of turmoil. My body was aching with a fire to be set free of torment from nothingness. Tears flew out like a sudden clash of thunder; they came flowing like a river. The town rained for the last time that morning, but it rained through out the day. Everyone stayed inside, glancing out their windows to the now ugly streets. No one walked outside that day, no one wanted too. That day was, to most people in that town, the most depressing day in their history. Stores closed early and employees left unpaid as they were let off ahead of schedule. No one found happiness in this rain, and me, the least of all. I had received a telephone call as the storm clouds had just gathered. The voice was pained, and it cut through to my heart. My first love wished to end our relationship. I was affected quite dangerously by this as I had never been prepared for such a situation. I had never thought of the consequences of love. From what I had heard of it, it wasn't supposed to come with any. Was this not supposed to be heaven? Was this not the company of the soul's pleasure? For a few minutes, all I felt was sadness. This reality became more like the chaos that had torn its way through everyone else; this was what had stolen the hope of millions of people. As I sat there looking out my slithering window, I tried to fit the pieces of a broken heart together.

I could have begged of you forever to have taken back those words, to have listened to your heart. But I'm too out of fire to will it. I could not even stand the thought of you refusing and my options, or my lack of them then. I knew as well as you did, that nothing would change your mind now. I took out my guitar, ancient strings that remembered the family that played them for years. It was a constant companion in my travels for love, often giving pleasure to whichever soul that heard them. I wished my fingers would pluck the strings like before, comforting me in ways I had done for many others who had also felt this pain, but the sound came distorted. The chords echoed my sadness and my pen wrote nothing but poems, full of pain and sorrow. It was then that I curled back into the insecurities of what I was to come to know as the facts of life. Back to the meaningless existence that would be the rest of my toils. I found myself curling back to the same slums that the world suffered from. I understood now. The world has had its share of love. They have been heartsick, loosing the one they put their trust and soul into. And in turn, the ones who took it away were suffering just as well, with guilt and remorse for what they had done. I saw, it was more than any man or woman could take. But we are still here; each and every one of us. That was our strength. Despite losing love, which was, to some, the only lifeline, we continued to exist. This world was truly something and it grows more amazing with every day. But still, the sun would never shine again to most people. No matter how much they look up all they see are the dark shadows, like smoke filled skies, reminding us that this is all there is left to ourselves. As I walk these empty streets, I feel like an empty puppet, held up only by invisible strings of misery. Whatever I hang from is just as angelic as you, and like you, as heartless.

A drop of water falls on him. One man looks up to see a face in the clouds. Like many others did before. He longed for her. Like many others did before. He longed to meet her, to wonder about her. He started to feel something, he felt love. Like many others did before. Like no one does anymore. As I watch him now, from my window, I couldn't help but shake my head at him. Like many others did before.