Gray Heights

In a long time ago, in a place that now seems to be a million miles away, I sat in a crowded room and wrote the last words to fulfill a cycle whose finale would come soon. Deception had stepped forward at me to make the call, but I didn't know what to do but look her in the eye and back away. Whatever the interpretation she could have made out from my answer I still ignore what would have been the most appropriate way to react to this, but such option was only to remain in the twilight zone of possibility. I felt somebody quite familiar was manoeuvering the events of that day by magical means for the last time.

Even if it was a matter of minutes, the rain outside seemed to fall for hours, just to clear the way for wind and hail, whose grinding sound on the rooftops worked as musical score for the afternoon. I couldn't help but thinking of Prospero, the banished duke who could handle weather and produce illusions at will by casting powerful spells. I had once been influenced by certain dreams I thought would eventually come true, yet the drive of dreams is quite penchant to be outgunned by reality and circumstances. Maybe I was still discouraged by the previous outcome, but, on other hand, dreams lose their magic when the become true. They stop being dreams. Maybe I would have not been able to bear the situation had I received what I expected. Prospero had already proved it, magic and reality are a weird couple whose marriage always wrecks due to irreconciliable differences. Still, I dedicated my last words to this wonderful sorcerer and the miracles he worked for us.

There was a place I wished to go to in that moment, it was outside in the rain, even if it was hailing; for reasons still unknown I didn't go there. I walked down the aisle just to meet my companions and stayed with them to look outside for the very last moments. Everything was normal until deception showed up and joined our waiting. We waited and waited and talked about any nonsense and laughed at some jokes about some people and we thought the garden would be a little swamp, a bayou as I remarked. She spoke another kind of nonsense and danced before me, as if trying to draw my attention closer to her reach again. How come I didn't go back to her? Sometimes I wonder what could have gone through her mind in that moment, but I wasn't even sure about my own thoughts. Should I have believed what I had already taken for granted (was there really something to take for granted?) Had she reacted so if I hadn't been around? I didn't want to be close to her and thought again about rain. Many people hate it, but they never notice it cleanses the atmosphere and leaves a clear sky behind it. If I stayed inside I would've had to face the illusions from the past.

Time ran out, so did the intensity of the rain. I stepped out and waved goodbye to the companions I would never see again. She was still around, but I had no interest in trying to read her expression. Reality had already dispelled the illusion, even if I still could see her. As we all were taking our leave I heard her talk about something she felt like doing, but we all were too tired to follow her. And I finally stepped into the rain, where I could wash off the remnants of shattered expectations, the layer of her longing she had wrapped me up in. Rain cooled my spirits and helped clear my mind.

As I walked away I kept thinking of Prospero's epilogue. The showers of that last day helped me unravel the true nature of what I wanted and cleared away the fog from my eyes. The days of power and magic were over, and those memories had been dragged to the gutters. It seems he drove me away from his magic for certain reason, or maybe he wasn't interested in subduing me to his power. Cold waters quenched the blaze of wishful thinking and deception would never touch me again. Rain made me new.