I wove myself between the most beautiful harmonies tonight—the type of harmony only God can design. A brother, a sister, and an extra man who played the bass as though he were playing the strings of his own soul.
And while I was excited when I first heard that the concert was two doors down, I realized—sitting in the ambiance of candle light, and centuries-old history, and a bar that wasn’t really a bar but an ‘I’ll trade you a glass of wine for a donation’—I realized a piece of me was ready to die. I was the locust who knew the skin he wore no longer fit and must be shed.
I thought it would be painful to lose an identity that was mine for so many years. But instead, it felt like air after forgetting how to breathe. It was a cocktail of nostalgia mixed with the unknown. It was a rebirth of the best parts of my younger self. And it brought tears to my eyes, because I thought that the younger version of me was capable only of foolishness.
Had I judged her wrongly? In the haze of ignorance, had she known a little bit of right? Had she been aware of a little bit of beauty? Had she carried a little bit of soul?
As the harmonies crescendoed and the bass dared my heart to keep rhythm, I allowed the most recent version of myself to be laid to rest.
An admission that I can carry this woman no further.
And I fly upon the breath of a new life. I whirl to the rhythm of the bass, allowing the beat of my heart to do some daring of its own…as I resuscitate the woman of 16 years ago and offered her a trade…
If she will give me life—if she will teach me to feel again—I will weave wisdom across the threshold of her living…