Euphonious esotericism

A Story by Aiden Aloysius

Metaphor.

The smoldering sun has gone and the night is ablaze as the moon begins to whistle a soft tune through the curls of her hair. We sat on a rock at the base of a hill, her chin tilted as if she were listening to the bustling skyline in the distance. Her focus, however, was placed on me - my central divider. That familiar place between the top of my mind and the bottom of my heart - her spot. She extended her neck as her breath retracted like it does when your heart skips a beat, and found the perfect spot for her lips - my favorite.

We sat in silence, soaking up the evening as she strummed her fingers through my hair like a soliloquy spoken in tone. Each note played perfectly in a measure that only I could overhear.

Euphonious esotericism.

She sang me songs of the future, pictured characters from the past and articulated make believe places I’d heard of only in my dreams but had never seen. The breeze built up like a bridge channeling its way back to the chorus - a simultaneous utterance of something made by many - cascading intonation.

Down, up, fall, rise.

Like a love-struck child fingering flowers to determine her destiny, I rise and fall by the sound of her music; waiting patiently for a high note and subsequent whole rest. Semibreve. I listen for a telling tune, but all I can do now is hum along.