Symphony
In the beginning, all was darkness. There was darkness for a long time, eons and ages of time untold. It was a darkness so thick it could be felt, and nothing could penetrate it. There was silence in the darkness, and all would have been sad, except there was nothing there to be sad. It was dark and silent and empty. That was it. It was emptiness.
Emptiness cannot last forever. One, single, solitary tone began to sound; one note rang loud and clear through the dark, silent emptiness. It sang for a long time, until it grew monotonous, hearing the same note go on and on and on and on and on. Then, another note sounded, just a bit different, but different enough. They sang together for a long time. Over time, the sounds grew in number and variety, until the emptiness was filled with sound and light and things.
The last things to fill the emptiness were people. They were made up of hundreds of thousands of tones, and no two were quite alike. They all sang their own song, without realizing it. The songs were not complete. They only sang half a melody. People went around the world, and there was madness; a cacophony of tones and noises and sounds and songs. How to find the other half of the song in such chaos? It was nearly impossible. It was impossible for some people, and so there was unhappiness.
Unhappiness cannot last forever. Some people found the other half of the song. The notes joined and played together, and everything made sense for them. There was a knowledge gained through the blending of those notes, a secret no lips could ever tell. It was the only truly perfect rightness in the world which was no longer empty, but full of chaos.
There was a boy who lived inside a world that was unhappy and full of chaos. There was a great loss in his life, and so the notes of his song grew warped, and people cringed and drew back from the grating sound which was not music. His tones were dark and angry and violent and full of chaos, and he spread them wherever he went, and he was despised.
There was a girl who lived inside a world that was unhappy and full of chaos. There was a great loss in her life, and so the notes of her song grew warped, and people cringed and drew back from the grating sound which was not music. Her tones were dark and angry and violent and full of chaos, and she spread them wherever she went, and she was ridiculed.
The boy and the girl were drawn to places that were dark and angry and silent, so they could listen to their own warped notes and pluck the strings of their bitterness and pretend that it was music. They went to places where there were no people to despise them and ridicule them and draw away from them. They went to places to be alone, but they found a place where they were not alone, but with each other.
The warped notes sounded off each other, and the boy and the girl hated the sound of warped notes which were not their own. The warped notes blended together and whispered they were not music, and the boy and the girl did not wish to hear this. The warped notes cried that they could be music together, and the boy and the girl ran away from the song which was not music but could become music.
The notes of the boy and girl kept crying out for each other, while the boy and girl tried to fight it. They fought each other, but they could not fight the notes. They tried to run and scream and kick and hit and fight and lash out and hurt and wound and tear, but they had to do this in order to bring the notes in tune. It was painful, but they had to do it. The notes sounded off each other, and they grew less warped and dark and angry and full of chaos.
There was another boy whose song was alluring and tempting and full of lies. The song pretended to blend with the notes of the girl, but it was a sad song, a mournful song of lies and deceit and hurt and pain, which was not healing, but destroying. The song ate away at the girl, pulling apart the threads that made her unique and leaving her broken and lost.
The true song of the boy who had felt a loss and grown warped and was despised and was growing better called to the girl and sang of truth and reality and dreams and life and love and honesty and all the things which had been missing in the songs of the boy and the girl, but they were learning. The warped notes slowly came into tune, and others saw, and no longer despised or ridiculed or drew away. The boy and girl no longer tried to run and scream and kick and hit and fight and lash out and hurt and wound and tear. The notes were quiet now, gentle, the beginnings of music, which was not music, but was going to be music.
The girl discovered that the song of the other boy was false and full of lies and deceit and hurt and pain. She cut the strings which had bound her to the boy full of lies and deceit and hurt and pain. The notes between the boy who had felt loss and now told truth and the girl who had been ridiculed and now knew life grew louder. The strings tying them together grew stronger and more bountiful. They felt the notes begin to sing. They listened to the song.
The boy who had been angry and now sang love and the girl who had been alone and now sang love came together, and the song burst into a symphony, and the symphony was joyous, but it was laced with all the pain and loss and sorrow and anger that had gone before and all the pain and loss and sorrow and anger that was to come.
The people who had drawn back but had drawn closer listened to the symphony and knew that the boy and the girl sang love and truth because they had once been warped and had not known how to make music. Only warped notes which could bring each other into tune could sing so sweet a song. Only those who had never known music could take such joy in its song.
Symphonies can last forever. Even if those who make them are taken away, the notes continue to echo their song. The boy and the girl know that the pain and the loss and the sorrow are not over. They know that the pain and the loss and the sorrow will come again, but the pain and the loss and the sorrow cannot last forever. Symphonies can.
In the beginning, all was darkness. There was darkness for a long time, eons and ages of time untold. It was a darkness so thick it could be felt, and nothing could penetrate it. There was silence in the darkness, and all would have been sad, except there was nothing there to be sad. It was dark and silent and empty. That was it. It was emptiness.
Emptiness cannot last forever. One, single, solitary tone began to sound; one note rang loud and clear through the dark, silent emptiness. It sang for a long time, until it grew monotonous, hearing the same note go on and on and on and on and on. Then, another note sounded, just a bit different, but different enough. They sang together for a long time. Over time, the sounds grew in number and variety, until the emptiness was filled with sound and light and things.
The last things to fill the emptiness were people. They were made up of hundreds of thousands of tones, and no two were quite alike. They all sang their own song, without realizing it. The songs were not complete. They only sang half a melody. People went around the world, and there was madness; a cacophony of tones and noises and sounds and songs. How to find the other half of the song in such chaos? It was nearly impossible. It was impossible for some people, and so there was unhappiness.
Unhappiness cannot last forever. Some people found the other half of the song. The notes joined and played together, and everything made sense for them. There was a knowledge gained through the blending of those notes, a secret no lips could ever tell. It was the only truly perfect rightness in the world which was no longer empty, but full of chaos.
There was a boy who lived inside a world that was unhappy and full of chaos. There was a great loss in his life, and so the notes of his song grew warped, and people cringed and drew back from the grating sound which was not music. His tones were dark and angry and violent and full of chaos, and he spread them wherever he went, and he was despised.
There was a girl who lived inside a world that was unhappy and full of chaos. There was a great loss in her life, and so the notes of her song grew warped, and people cringed and drew back from the grating sound which was not music. Her tones were dark and angry and violent and full of chaos, and she spread them wherever she went, and she was ridiculed.
The boy and the girl were drawn to places that were dark and angry and silent, so they could listen to their own warped notes and pluck the strings of their bitterness and pretend that it was music. They went to places where there were no people to despise them and ridicule them and draw away from them. They went to places to be alone, but they found a place where they were not alone, but with each other.
The warped notes sounded off each other, and the boy and the girl hated the sound of warped notes which were not their own. The warped notes blended together and whispered they were not music, and the boy and the girl did not wish to hear this. The warped notes cried that they could be music together, and the boy and the girl ran away from the song which was not music but could become music.
The notes of the boy and girl kept crying out for each other, while the boy and girl tried to fight it. They fought each other, but they could not fight the notes. They tried to run and scream and kick and hit and fight and lash out and hurt and wound and tear, but they had to do this in order to bring the notes in tune. It was painful, but they had to do it. The notes sounded off each other, and they grew less warped and dark and angry and full of chaos.
There was another boy whose song was alluring and tempting and full of lies. The song pretended to blend with the notes of the girl, but it was a sad song, a mournful song of lies and deceit and hurt and pain, which was not healing, but destroying. The song ate away at the girl, pulling apart the threads that made her unique and leaving her broken and lost.
The true song of the boy who had felt a loss and grown warped and was despised and was growing better called to the girl and sang of truth and reality and dreams and life and love and honesty and all the things which had been missing in the songs of the boy and the girl, but they were learning. The warped notes slowly came into tune, and others saw, and no longer despised or ridiculed or drew away. The boy and girl no longer tried to run and scream and kick and hit and fight and lash out and hurt and wound and tear. The notes were quiet now, gentle, the beginnings of music, which was not music, but was going to be music.
The girl discovered that the song of the other boy was false and full of lies and deceit and hurt and pain. She cut the strings which had bound her to the boy full of lies and deceit and hurt and pain. The notes between the boy who had felt loss and now told truth and the girl who had been ridiculed and now knew life grew louder. The strings tying them together grew stronger and more bountiful. They felt the notes begin to sing. They listened to the song.
The boy who had been angry and now sang love and the girl who had been alone and now sang love came together, and the song burst into a symphony, and the symphony was joyous, but it was laced with all the pain and loss and sorrow and anger that had gone before and all the pain and loss and sorrow and anger that was to come.
The people who had drawn back but had drawn closer listened to the symphony and knew that the boy and the girl sang love and truth because they had once been warped and had not known how to make music. Only warped notes which could bring each other into tune could sing so sweet a song. Only those who had never known music could take such joy in its song.
Symphonies can last forever. Even if those who make them are taken away, the notes continue to echo their song. The boy and the girl know that the pain and the loss and the sorrow are not over. They know that the pain and the loss and the sorrow will come again, but the pain and the loss and the sorrow cannot last forever. Symphonies can.