Night drew to a close with a crescendo of morning birds. The hall outside remained quiet as the Earth woke to greet the coming day with joy. Young birds clamored for food as the sky grayed with the rising sun. Slowly the light crept into the darkened room.
The room was deserted. On a small table worn with years of use, a sheet of yellowed paper lay waiting. The words on the page were worn away from frequent handling. A door creaked open and the jangle of keys disturbed the silence that filled the air. Slow methodical movements stirred up minute traces of dust and then the quiet strike of a match. The hand holding the wooden stick was illuminated as the flame lowered to a pillar candle and ignited the slightly charred wick.
Yellow candlelight flickered and cast dancing shadows on the wall. The worn face of one who longed for company basked in the inviting warmth for a moment. Gentle creaking accompanied the shadows as a chair groaned in protest. They sat there- the paper, the candle, and the chair. It was a ritual woven into the pattern of life.
Time passed, the hands of a wristwatch ticked away the seconds. Then, faintly, the striking pattern of shoes echoed and grew closer. Loud and swift, the footsteps drew closer and then paused before continuing past, fading into the distance. Minutes passed and the light outside grew brighter. The chair creaked in protest again and heavy drapes closed out the morning sunshine, leaving the candle as the only source of illumination. The door clicked softly shut followed by slow shuffling across the carpeted floor. Once more creaking was heard and then silence.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Beneath the closed door, light tried to fill the void. Tick. Tick. Tick. Keys jingled in the hand of another and the door creaked open once more. Harsh incandescent light flooded the room for a moment or two before the room plunged back into the dim candlelight. Old shadows on the wall danced with the new comers.
Above, charged by the momentary dose of artificial light, stars glowed and two people stood still. One with tears, the other with a soft smile. Two glasses filled with bubbly liquid were revealed beneath a silk cloth. The clink of glass raised in salutation was lost in soft laughter.
A gift, unwrapped and discarded in favor of silence, was placed upon the table. Condensation from a glass soaked into the paper, marking it with a dark circle. The stars faded into the dark ceiling above. Still they stood, hovering, waiting for the right words they knew but could not say.
In silence, they parted once more to go their own way. The ritual complete and nothing said - nothing was the same. Left behind and forgotten, a watermark joined silent witnesses and waited for the pattern to be repeated. Maybe then the time would be right.