a finale

Sooner than any of us realized, the sky darkened, then the fireworks started, unannounced, with a sudden bolt of lights in the sky. We sat right under the launching point. Each flare rose high into the sky and shimmered embers above us. A nostalgic melody played together with the rockets. The wind swept a cool breeze around us. Oohs and ahhs murmured from those watching behind me. I couldn’t help but feel a little moved by all of it together.

As I watched the crackling sky, memories of small moments here passed through my head, things almost forgotten. The words on a card I had received unexpectedly. The small gestures of hospitality that were defined yet subtle. The simple ways this place had touched my heart and opened it into something wider than I realized was possible.

The announcer said that it was soon to be the finale. It occurred to me, then, that the finale was always meant to dazzle the audience. Many of the other arrangements along the way were breathtaking, but they all were building up to a grand finale that was the spectacle of the evening. But in doing so, the most awe-inspiring moments, would, before we fully realized it, lead to the end. It was the great contradiction of such a beautiful thing. The most memorable moments came just before all of it came to a close.

I felt sad, a little regretful, to realize all that as I watched each spark leading us closer to the end. I didn’t want it to stop. But I also looked forward to seeing the next launch every time.

And then it came. The music finished playing. But in the silence, rockets continued to rise, one after another. As if to make the final moments stretch as long as they could. I felt a sense of gratitude for those extra bursts. It felt like a coded farewell, written in the choreography of explosions. I felt the tears well in my eyes as the last shimmering rain hailed down from overhead and disappeared into the night.