I was taking Leah home. We were on a train, moving through a forest, at night. She was curled up asleep on the seat across the aisle, and I had a wide bench seat all to myself. Among her things were a few music magazines, which she'd been reading before she went to sleep. I picked one up and began thumbing through it.
There was a long article about Debussy, with accompanying orchestral sheet music for Reverie. I happened upon the flute part, and as I followed it along, I could hear it as if it were really being played, and tears fell from my eyes onto the pages.
Then Leah was there next to me, and she put her head in my lap. She closed her eyes and was about to doze off again, and she murmured, "What are you doing, looking through those old magazines? They're so old..."
I pulled her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, and one of my tears fell onto her temple. I kissed it away, and right before Leah went back to sleep, she whispered, "What is it that makes you so uncomfortable?"
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