The Almost Stranger, the Violinist and the Reminder

I saw her today, from somewhere not so far away, and my heart didn't bother to do a leap or two. My stomach didn't turn, my cheeks didn't flush and I wasn't inclined to run or scream or flail. I noted her presence, turned the page and continued to draw the scenery. I have no idea whether she ever saw me upon that knoll, sketching away in pen. She got on the bus with the rest of the throng and it sped away, leaving behind an empty sidewalk.

But the memory of her remained; memories of times when we were more than just strangers. Later I saw a violinist, the passion for his music etched into the lines of his face as his bow sawed across the strings. In the tunnel he played, his melody cutting into my heart, above the noise of hundred people walking by, a melancholy reminder of all the things which used to be. It could have been heartbreaking, it could have been sorrowful, it could have been disheartening; but it wasn't. The music reminded me that I am who I am because of the people I used to know and it told me that I ought to hold my head up high and keep those memories with me, so that I may remember where I have been and remember where I am going. I don't know where she is going, but I know where I want to be, so I will keep her and that violinist and his music which echoed through the tunnel with me always - an inspiration to push on.