Longing

Once, not long ago, this place must have been a jewel of timeless grace and splendor. The towering effigies still gaze West with sadness and longing on their beautiful faces, even though cracks and blotches brought on by the changing seasons have begun to mar their perfection.

Little fountains that no longer dance to the music of water now gather dust and decay in stoic silence, though their flawlessly sculptured bowls still flaunt delicate carvings done long before the Shire was even born. And on the twin arms of the firth lifeless dwellings stare back at me with lovingly crafted windows to emptiness and cold that knows no respite. And even in this ruin I can see undeniable, powerful beauty. You have always loved the Elves and the beauty that seems to be their very lifeblood. I run my fingers along the subtle patterns of the marble pillar beside me and hear again your voice reading for me the glorious vision of Gondolin. And I know, I painfully realize, that grace and charm hold no meaning until they are captured in your voice, anchored in your presence.

I miss you.

I stand here in the midst of all this beauty and wonder if the clouds blushed just that way when you set foot on the ship that bore you away from your past, from the land of your birth. From me.

Night lends its blue and purple to the sky now clothed in flame. Day after day, weeks chasing one another across years flying past like the gulls soaring above me, I have come here. I have seen hundreds and hundreds of sunsets that defy the words of even the most silken-tongued of the elven poets, and still this loveliness holds me entranced, enraptured, in awe --

-- until my eyes catch sight of the horizon, an unbroken line of the sun dissolved. Empty. Empty. You are not here. Never again will be. The sea is empty. Empty. I am alone.

Afterwards, even the wind weeps with me.

FIN