What Sad Is

‘Sad? Sad?’, he asked. ‘You want to know, what is, sad?’
I think – I think I’m pretty sure I can tell you. 
Yes, I can – tell you, in the sense of what, is sad, for me…..’
 
‘But’, she asked, curling deeper into her end of the sofa, ‘But wouldn’t it be, as how it affects you – how it feels, to you – wouldn’t that be the most appropriate definition of sad?’
 
He thought, for a moment.
 
It was late – they had already done their dance, had already found and entered into, and then exited out of, a space. And such a question then, was probably the very best time to ask it.
 
He, was tired, though – but he very much wanted to be able to offer a sincere and deep, answer. He wanted to, speak, deeply – from the bottom membrane of his soul. It was, after all, a question that had haunted him his whole life.
 
She wasn’t pressing him. As he gazed at her, curled up into the soft cushions, legs beneath her, an angora throw covering her lower body, a glass of red wine, ruby/shining in the candlelight.
 
He wanted both to answer her but more importantly to, once and for all, answer his own troubled soul.
 
‘What is, sad?’, he said once again.
 
‘I’ll start with this. Sad is when the melody, the song that both – both of you agreed was the most defining music to ever enunciate a deep, deep, penetrative binding – bonding….sad is when, at a certain point in hearing it, it no longer causes your heart to swell, your breath to catch, your eyes to water – when the hearing it, it is, simply another musical comment. It is, at that moment, I believe, the candle that has lost its flame, the heart that no longer beats in sympathy with your soul. That, is the beginning of, sad’
 
She sipped her wine, with a thoughtful, but troubled look on her fine features.
 
‘And so’, she started, then paused.
 
He watched her closely, intently. He knew she was smart. Killer smart, as it is said.
 
She fidgeted a little. Ran her forefinger and thumb up and down the wineglass stem.
Almost seductively, he began to think. And in thinking that, cocked his head, without realizing it.
 
She glanced over at him at that precise moment and started, slightly.
 
Then that smile.
 
He smiled in return, somewhat quizzically.
 
She caught herself, just in time. She almost patted the seat cushion beside her in that global call sign of, ‘Come over here’.
 
Instead, she started again, her expression slightly grim.
 
‘So – you relate and refer that life-defining moment, to – to music? Seriously? I mean, seriously?’
 
He was taken aback a little at the sudden aggressive tone in her question.
 
He paused, thought, sat forward in the chair, his arms on his upper legs, cradling the glass between his hands.
 
‘Is that, in any way, wrong?’
 
He saw she seemed to be about to pounce. He held up his hand in a ’stop’ gesture.
 
She caught herself. He smiled, slightly.
 
‘Yes – I’m serious. Or, have you never really been in love? In love/lust/leave the world behind sense of abandon – abandon because your sense, your convictions about life has suddenly been brain altered?’
 
She was about to speak, and as he sat back again, into the chair, he casually waved the ‘stop’ signal at her again.
 
‘Wait – wait before you reply. ‘
 
‘I don’t need to know – to know the answer to that. You, need to know that answer. But if your answer is, ‘Yes – I have’, then either you were fooling yourself, fooling your partner or worse even, intellectually indifferent to the question in the first place. ‘
 
A quiet fell, softly, about them as they seemed to both, at the same moment, reach a place of understanding.
 
Looking at her, he felt – he felt a sadness then. For they didn’t really know one another. What they had was not – at least not yet, a relationship in any way. But, to his mind, what they had was sudden ownership of a route map – one that reflected an easy comfort, but did not, completely show the path. For upon a closer scrutiny, the tracks and the traces of the course, simply disappeared into a faded water-stained ending. 
 
The pause that enveloped them, actually served to warm them. With a slight shiver, she sat up more, shook her head such that the blond tresses shook about and re-settled like a halo.
 
‘I’ll tell you what sad is’, she started. ‘You wanna hear it?’
 
Suddenly all his self assurance seemed to collapse inwards. With an involuntary shiver he nodded, ‘yes’.
 
'What is the most sad, possible, is if, two people – let’s start with two people, have discovered one another – have, without trying to, forged a bond – a binding unlike either has ever known. Stronger and more enduring than any conviction they might have ever considered. One where each, completes the other's thoughts, sentences. Where a myopic consequence grips their hearts, their souls – where they both know that if they could not, somehow, spend the rest of their lives together, they would truly, honestly, seriously seek the only possible recourse – a recourse which, in total desperation, commands them, to end their time, albeit apart, together. For they know, each unto the other, that to live – to have to live, without any possibility of being together, is not – is not living, is not life – is the cruelest penalty of love and of loving.
That, is sad – that is what sad, is.’
 
He raised his head, slowly, to gaze intently at her.
 
And her heart fluttered, straining to break free, as she watched tears, course down his cheeks.
 
Through gritted teeth, forced by a groan, he uttered, ‘Yes – to have to acknowledge, admit, that there is no possibility, not a smidgen of a chance, for them to be together, ever – that is, what sad, is.’
 
© 2021 michael moore