Beacon

Sitting across the dining room table from her, he watched the steam dance as it rose from his coffee cup. Outside, the late-night storm raged. The house was dark, except for a single candle. When the power would be restored was anyone’s guess.

He’d been quiet all evening, and she knew he had something to say.

The candle’s dancing flame cast flickering shadows on the walls.

 He watched the steam, and she watched him.

Then, in the softest voice she’d ever heard, he said, “Baby, my road was wrapped in darkness, entirely hidden from my eyes.  I stumbled, and fell, just wandering blindly. I was imprisoned by my own night.

“But sometimes, every once in a while, I would catch faint flashes of light—faraway windows into a world of color.”

When he looked up, she saw his tears.

“I kept moving towards those flashes, still stumbling, but still moving. It was only by following those flashes that my road was finally revealed, and I stepped into today.

“I’m here, because I followed the light of love that, even today, shines through you.”