The Best Thing

A short story by Sebastiaan

May be it's the best thing, but maybe it's not worth it. May be it is the worst thing, but maybe it's so worth it.

I just don't know. It's hard to decide on good and evil, there are no stamps to be placed upon people, no labels by which they can be defined. I've always firmly believed this.

There's just no knowing where time may lead us, at this moment though I'm spun onward by music.

I live alone inside my room, occasionally though, time drips by to say hello. It doesn't stay long, but never stands still, except for those few moments. Time has thought me two things. The first: enjoy moments while they last, time will seem to stand still (and maybe it does?), but it never stays that way.

The other: you can never be sure of the future.

For example, happiness is momentarily.

Whilst I was pondering over these and many more time-related issues, someone knocked on my door. "You there?" I heard the voice of a friend of mine.
"Come on in," I replied. After she sat down, I posed here the question, "what is it you seek, my friend?"

Now, before I continue, there may be some explanation befitting this friend. She is no ordinary friend, not just someone whom I could laugh with, talk to about the serious depths of life... This friend, she's song-worthy.

Yes, I sing a lot, and write my own songs. It is not something widely known, I like to keep this to myself, but to some friends, I sing a few songs, and to those very special friends, I even write a song.

For her, I wrote about my heart.

She replied: "I seek your advice... There's something which has been on my mind for a long time now..." I wondered what she meant with these words, what she was talking about. I let her continue, without interruption, though clearly that was what she sought. "You know, it's been a really long while since I've truly experienced happiness, those frozen moments, standing still in time. Even though it continues to flow, I know I'm caught in a moment... You do know what I'm talking about, right?" I nodded, but did not speak. "Why are you silent, my friend? Has ill befallen you?"
"It has not," I replied. "You see, it is exactly this you speak of which I was just thinking about, before you entered. I like to call those little moments you speak of, the pearls of life. It is these pearls we must treasure. It is this, and music, that define a good life. Let me sing to you."

The song I sung next was as follows (it was actually more of a poem, than a song, yet still I did sung out the words under a melody):

Is it shelter you seek?
Is it your heart I should keep?
Should yours actually be mine to hold?
Is it pure, saintly good and made of gold?
Is it your heart I'm meant to seek?

Is it your dreams you dare not speak?
Are mine too unnerving and deep?
Why feels your hand so cold?
Is it solely the thought of your kiss
that makes me tremble and weak?

She interrupted my singing with a tear, it broke through the sturdy glass panes called her bluest eyes, and I was brought to a shake. "What's the matter?" I asked, carefully.
"I am moved. It was just now, this moment, that time had stood still, for me. I thank you." With those words she left.


I still think of the day she left me, I do not exactly know why she did, but she did as she pleased all the time anyway.

If there's one thing time has thaught me, it is that it cannot be trusted in the hands of a loved one.

Love. May be it's the best thing, but maybe it's not worth it. May be it is the worst thing, but maybe it's so worth it.