|I Have Given You a Memory
Author: Aspiring Author PM
What would you do if you met an angel and didn't know it... until it was too late? UPDATED as of 12-20-04; somehow, it never moved up the list. One-shot. Suggested music: Pachelbel's Canon in D. [EDITED AGAIN: 09.21.06]Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance/Spiritual - Words: 1,256 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 1 - Published: 07-29-04 - id: 1679277
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This was started in the car on the way home from visiting friends. I wrote about half of it, and I have now completed it, as you can see as it is here. Um, it's kinda serious, I don't know if it is to be considered angsty or not, but whatever.
EDIT: As of two years later, I've changed it a bit. Cleaned it up. Music to listen to while reading: Pachelbel's Canon in D.
I HAVE GIVEN YOU A MEMORY
I remember when I first saw you. It was a sunny day in Central Park; you were sitting on a bench reading a book. A single beam of sunlight lanced through the leaves to highlight the auburn in your mahogany hair. Your long forest green skirt, so unusual in those days, looked so natural on you. You had an air of serenity, like the moist calm after a thunderstorm, that I knew was impossible to capture on canvas. I turned away and you never knew I was there.
If only you knew how many canvases with your image on them have been laid away because they were never quite right. They were only as close as my mortal brushes and paints could come to your immortal beauty. If only you knew how I scoured the markets stores and Internet to find just that shade of brown to match your hair, for the perfect pink to highlight your cheek. If only you knew how often I found myself at the same bench in Central Park, hoping to catch another glimpse of you, hoping to find the key to your ethereal beauty that I had missed the first time.
I recall when I finally found you again, this time in the metro station. You looked exactly the same, though your clothes were different. I recognized you instantly. There was a small space around you that seemed cleaner, fresher than the surrounding air. You seemed to glow, stealing all the light from the crowd around you. Your shining hair was gathered into a knot at the nape of your neck, confining but not controlling its energy and life. Everything about you embodied life and vitality. Though you moved slowly and with grace, you appeared to me as a glittering bird trapped among the beasts of the earth. As I boarded my train, our eyes met for a brief second and I found myself surrounded by rich brown sparkling with golden fragments. You broke eye contact, turning your face away and showing me that beautiful profile. I pressed against the grimy glass, not wanting to lose sight of you, until the darkness of the tunnel finally blocked my vision.
I always wondered whether you knew I was there. Did you know how I searched for you? I placed an ad for you in the paper, asking if anyone knew your name. Was that foolish? I suppose so, you had never seemed the type to stoop as low as answering personal ads. I kept retuning to Central Park. I never saw you there but for the first time.
In the end I think you let me find you. I believe you know how I was pining, how I was more and more to be found before my canvases. Slowly I had become aware of the fact that my body was dying even as my mind was ever in a frenzy of inspiration. And I realized that you had done this to me.
And yet every day, I returned to Central Park. That day, I let my feet walk. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself in a small glade. The trees formed an almost perfect circle, the sun lancing through the leaves. It reminded me of the first day I had seen you. You were sitting on a white bench in front of a simple fountain, reading. Your hair flowed down your back in mahogany waves, just like the first day. You were dressed in blue, a smoky blue skirt and a pale blue blouse. You didn't seem to know I was there. I hadn't seen you in months yet I recognized you immediately. My head spun, my knees grew weak, and I had to brace myself against the tree behind me. When my eyes cleared, you had not moved, but I knew you had acknowledged me. I turned to go, content with the mere sight of you, yet you called out to me. Wait, you said, We need to talk. And we did. Yourose andturned onme those depthless brown eyes, as you came to me and led me to the bench. We sat and talked. Something about you made me tell you my life, from the beginning to the end. You sat and listened through it all, not making a sound, not saying anything. As I came to the end of my tale, you spoke: You described the trees and the grass growing around us, the water splashing in the fountain, the birds chirping. But when you spoke, it didn't sound like you were describing the scenery. It sounded as if everything had magic, and I was just too blind to see it. It sounded…as if you were describing yourself. When you finished, you thanked me. For what, I asked. And you replied, For giving me a memory. The wind blew in my eyes then, and when I could see again, you were gone.
You said I have given you a memory, but did I really? Or have you gifted one to me? I never painted anything else, you know. The magic in life was never meant to be confined to canvas. Did you know that you are famous now; "The Angel of Life". Will we ever meet again? Your face becomes faded in my mind, but for your eyes. I grow old, my mind grows weak, what is real and what is not? The only thing I have left is my memories.
You said I have given you a memory, but did I really? All I knoware my memories of you, and the soft brush of the wind on my cheek, That Day in Central Park…
A/N2: I just realized why it didn't move up the list when I updated it on the 20th. I forgot to hit the "replace chapter" button! So here it REALLY is, changed and the lot. Sorry for being confusing!