Tapicerías Apasionadas 3

Tapicerías Apasionadas: The Third Tapestry

=Chapter One: Echoes of Pure Joy=

by Cyntia

Cyntia opened the bathroom window to let a breeze flow in. Outside was a wildvine plant, resplendent in vibrant color. A butterfly with blue and green splotches lingered batting the air with a delicate search for loose pollen. As it descended to land upon one singular blossom, another butterfly equally splendid in orange and purple landed for the same pollen. Impossibly, the two creatures clung to the swaying flower, each taking nutrients without seeming to fight, content to share nourishment. This caused Cyntia to think of Quin and her own tolerance to have him near her constantly. When had she stopped needing distance to preserve herself? She didn't need to question -- didn't feel compelled to cling onto him as if he might be a stopover in flight. Even in his absence now, she vowed to capture images like this to share with him, knowing he'd see with the same eyes she did.

Quin was off hunting for more stable living arrangements and it was her task to scout out a location for them to start singing. Before leaving the room they had let, she buried her face in the pillow where he had lain, breathing in his scent. Just the smell of him sent her skipping out into the sunshine, her long skirt flowing around her legs. The park was beautiful certainly, but was not a gathering place but for the few who took the time to stop and appreciate the outside air. It made more sense to look for a commonly trod path through a necessary section of town. Cyntia paused for a moment to observe where everyone was going. She noticed that most seemed to be heading for the gnomish part of town where the tram ran. Stepping inside she noticed right away the rats and trash. Nothing about this location screamed beauty. Perhaps it was because of this that she began to feel this darkness was a perfect place to create and spread pure joy. Testing the acoustics, Cyntia began humming.

She closed her eyes, remembering a song her mother used to sing when Mora (her mother's sense of humor -- calling her a little blueberry) was just eight. As the words came into her mind, she was barely aware of her own voice beginning to bounce around the walls inside. Smiles turned her way, but she was not listening to anything but her inner soul.

You are the one who makes me happy

When everything else turns to grey

Yours is the voice that wakes me mornings

And sends me out into the day

You are the crowd that sits quiet listening to me

And all the mad sense I make

You are one of the few things worth remembering And since it's all true...

How could anyone mean more to me than you

Ah, yes, her voice echoed magnificently in this darkened expanse. There was noise from the tram, but here in the far corner where people had to cross over to the other tracks, their songs would rise above and permeate, sharing a lingering beauty with the lives they touched. Even this song that connoted all she had ever known about love, a blessing shown to her by her own parents, was not enough to express her profound intersection with Quin. She was going to have to get busy soon and write him something truly worthy.

=Chapter Two: From the Rooftops=

By Oliverio

Quin sat on the rooftop, tuning the guitar. Cyntia was napping on the small bed in the cramped apartment Quin had found. Prices were high for apartments but Quin, handy with tools, had struck a deal and gotten them this tiny home in the Trade District with a view looking out over the canals.

Quin smiled to himself, softly strumming the guitar. Some part of his brain was certain that he couldnt be so deeply in love so quickly, and it was all moving so fast. What had started on a dark street had now become working together, living together. Yet, somehow, it simply felt utterly and completely right. Felt was the key; Quin was getting used to trusting that feeling now, and he liked that.

Looking out over the canal, Quins face widened with an even larger smile, recalling Cyntias joy as she had showed him the tram, the place where theyd try their hand at busking for a living. The tram was dirty and noisy but the way Cyntias eyes had glittered, he had no doubts that this was where he wanted to be. She had mentioned something about acoustics, and hed simply nodded, needing nothing more than her excitement to convince him.

Afterwards, in their new apartment, curled up together, with her asleep in the crook of his arm, one of his hands gently stroking her hair, hed caught himself smiling stupidly again. Their lovemaking was passionate and hungry but somehow not desperate; rather, they touched each other with the profound sense of two people who had forever to savor each other.

There in the dark room, to his surprise, words to songs had welled up in him. Since hed put his first words on paper, hed found that he was like an artesian well with ideas for songs and snippets of lyrics bubbling up. He had gently extricated himself from Cyntias long limbs and padded over to find the notebook and pen

Up here on the roof, his guitar tuned to his satisfaction, he cleared his throat. Then he began to play, and sing not a beautiful voice, but still strong and consistent the song that hed scribbled down late last night.

Looking out the window, the night is still

Summer in the city, leaning on the sill Watching the people below

Were all just waiting for the rains,

Waiting for the rains to come

Turning back, coming back to bed

Lying on the sheets with you

Listening for the thunder

Were all just waiting for the rains, Waiting for the rains to come

Claps of thunder, rolling hard

Flashes of light, claps of thunder

Claps of thunder, rolling hard

Together here, the rains are falling

Thunder rolling through the room

Folks outside, still hoping for the rain

Old man resting on his cane Wiping his brow, he sighs hard

And he's just waiting for the rains, Waiting for the rains to come

Up in our little room, its a monsoon

The eye of the storm, like a hurricane

No more waiting for us

No more waiting for the rains

Dancing, spinning in the rain

Claps of thunder, rolling hard

Flashes of light, claps of thunder

Claps of thunder, rolling hard

Together here, the rains are falling

Thunder rolling through the room

=Chapter Three: Something Truly Worthy=

By Cyntia

Cyntia was beyond excited. Their first few sessions at the Tram Station had proven to be more lucrative than she’d ever imagined. People did not just listen and toss a silver in the pot as an aside; they stopped and struck up conversations. For as much as Cyntia had enjoyed helping others become well as a physician, it was a profession focused on people not at their best. Sure, there were times she was able to make a difference – tell a joke and get a momentary smile; succeed in easing a difficult time. Those interludes were the exception, though, and the majority of her time was spent trying not to make matters worse by applying bandaids to wounds, both literally and figuratively. She was beginning to believe that a more honorable expenditure of time would be devoting her life work to the prevention of ailments, as opposed to picking up the pieces in the aftermath.

Now that her career had abruptly changed, she was able to ponder these thoughts with the eye of a philosopher. Could it be that her previously somber mood had more to do with the way she spent her waking day and less to do with the desire to travel? It was safe to think these thoughts now that she was no longer stuck. It astounded her to realize just how much her own actions made her responsible for her own inner happiness. She could have easily kept going with the flow of her life, not even realizing how unhappy she was. Now that she had chosen to risk facing the unknown, and saw what it truly meant to steer her own destiny, it was as if the Gods were conspiring with her to reach her fuller potential. Everything she touched lately seemed to turn golden. Life was becoming more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Her father had told her always to follow her heart. Was this what it really meant, then? Do what you love and the rest will fall into place?

Singing with Quin was taking on a life and magic of its own. The people who stopped to talk were full of appreciation and liveliness in their souls. Other artists, authors, people of creation, people who understood passing the torch of positive energy… these were the ones who now surrounded her. An owner of a local club had mentioned a free mic participation night. They might go and take the stage for a few songs to get more exposure. An elderly couple, wanting to renew their vows, had asked if they might be willing to sing for them on the dinner cruise hosting the renewal. Cyntia’s life was beginning to feel like a huge celebration of all the finer aspects of living. It was such a happier focus that she nearly bubbled over in overwhelming gratitude and awareness of how lucky she was.

It was all Quin’s fault, too. Alright, to be fair, her own choices had led her here, but without him, this magic would not be the same. She suspected what they had was rare; but in the sharing of it, she somehow felt like she was spreading hope to others who might need to hear it. The joy was fierce in her heart, and this was the kind of emotion that gripped her so intensely. It inspired her own original song which she wrote with heart brimming over, full of awe and gratitude:

All Your Fault For my Quin, by Mora Cyntia Gasparilla

I have to say this No way to keep it all contained

You’ve taken my hand and led me to here

It overflows, overwhelms,

And it’s all your fault

That I glow with this inner light

Shining the way and illuminating

This life filled with love is just fascinating 

[chorus]

From my hand to yours

The undeniable energy

Passing the torch of love

Let it touch those with wailing souls

Let it light the wick of all in darkness

Let it shine the glimmer of hope Let it carry on, and spread A life of its own

I have to say this

No way could I have ever dreamed

How accepting the reigns would steer me here

I understand, overwhelmed

And it’s all your fault That I see how loving myself first Attracted you, made me seem dazzling With decadence, love, you are captivating

[repeat chorus]

I have to say this No way to see it in any other light I am who I am now ‘cause you touched me here

Together we overflow, overcome And it’s all your fault That we erupt and spread, contagious

We shine our light on others, stimulating They’ve now become part of our scintillating 

[final chorus]

From your hand to mine The undeniable energy

Passing the torch of love Let it touch those with wailing souls

Let it light the wick of all in darkness

Let it shine the glimmer of hope Let it carry on, and spread This love as it’s grown.

Sometimes after lovemaking, Cyntia would cry, her eyes brimming over with this kind of love that rocked her world and sent her reeling in an existence of emotion that was surreal. At first it had nearly bothered Quin, who did not grasp her tears were ones of immense joy. It soared in her soul as nearly unbearable, the pureness and beauty of it surely attached to some eternal source of life itself. She could not deny feeling it, nor should she. The only option she had was to share it, spread it and try to express it as clearly as she could. It was the heartbeat of all of humanity, which ties a nation together, bonded in spirit. It was larger than any singular person. It was the soul of the universe itself, stronger than anything imaginable, able to withstand and endure past whatever trials may come. She may not be able to save entire nations with antibiotics, but a wave of this love, being passed from one person to another might -- by uniting patriotism usually only felt by soldiers and their families who know what it means to sacrifice life, or those who have miraculously battled cancer and won. At this time of war, with the Scourge threat looming constantly, this kind of love and hope could work its magic into even hardened hearts… uniting them with each other, against all evils, to prevail. Cyntia felt like she was finally doing her life work, merely through expressing and shining the light upon such a small seed… implanted in her by Quin, which in turn, grew to be so large.

Cyntia came to Quin then, and with the awe and power of all she felt, began to sing a cappella to him… the bareness of her voice alone teaching him the chord progressions, and rapture of her face bathing him in the love straight from the center of her being. And in doing so, sharing this song with Quin, she saw her man with tears in his eyes - tears which made him twice the man he already was. Finally Quin was beginning to comprehend a small bit of what drove her to cry with overwhelming tenderness.