Melodies of a Mandolin
You had my heart strung tightly.
Strings of a mandolin, tightly wound.
They sung sweet tunes — melodies and rhythms only you and I could create.
But now they’ve l o o s e n e d. Withered from their once taut position to a wilted, slight version of themselves.
With each loosened part, a piece of us has drifted. Not disappeared but slowly unwound from my heart and fallen away.
Each moment of laughter or staring into your eyes that moment too long, of trying to guess who would challenge the other person more or always wondering what if...each had hit its breaking point. When the string had finally broken loose and succumb to the breeze that carried “us” away to the infinite land of memories.
But one is still hanging on. So loose and weak. The breeze taunts its delicate nature every day and nags it to let go…
But it doesn’t. It flitters there, the last piece of “us” that exists, holding on for dear life.
And as I look as its tattered helplessness, willing itself not to let go, I think of its vast incapability to ever play such sweet tunes again.
And at that, I realize this mandolin has never been so perfectly sound. So properly tuned to play the hymn of us.
There was always one string slightly out of tune, one note improperly played, something "just so” that makes me feel like this present scene has been inevitable since “we” began.
So, I look at this last string. With love, yes, and joy that we once played a tune together. But never one that bounced amongst the leaves or was whisked away through a narrow canal so sweetly and untouchable as I’d like to think.
And so I sit here. Grateful for these strings and the boundedness they once possessed over my heart. But grateful, more, that this last one flutters like the remnants of a spider’s web, mere moments from another person, or thing or breeze whisking it away to provide a fresh, new beginning.
~ Gabriella Pinel