May 1, 2011

The Moth (1.31.09)

Posted in Uncategorized at 22:39 by Miracle

The he-stranger leaned obliviously on the table – abandoned by a woman whose mere traces were but a chair and a demitasse that akin to himself, were empty. On the opposite side of the room, seated on a similar café table, was a she-stranger, waiting for a man who would never come for her.

Outdoors, the wind gushed, the trees swooned. The dead leaves, resurrected, took flight. Outside the door of the café, lay a doormat, and on the doormat, landed a moth. The forsaken man and the jilted woman took notice of nothing but the moth. No, not even each other. Only the moth.

Unmoved and unperturbed despite the powerful gales, the moth’s remarkable strength and steadfastness were what attracted the man and woman’s floorward eyesight (for it is the characteristic of the weak to be lured to the strong). Nevertheless, it was not the moth’s might that made it significant all at once: The moment the strangers’ vision touched the moth together, the butterfly’s modest and enigmatic cousin became a wing to an expanse of possibilities.

If only the drifters angled their heads slightly and realized each other’s existence. If only they would notice that they both had more than grief in common, but also identical editions of The French Lieutenant’s Woman on their laps. If only they would understand that they grieved for the wrong people. If only they —

No sooner did another romantic probability take place than a jaunty coffee-lover entered the café and trod upon the moth. The bell that hung above the door jingled. The moth died, and so did hope.

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Addendum: Retrieved from one of my abounding notepads, this is something I scribbled in a café last year while Kendi was stuck in traffic and the near-empty café left me with some room for imagination.

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