Danny's Light

 Growing up, when Danny wrote, they wrote of city lights. The city was many miles away, and Danny had never visited. But on clear nights, they could look out the window of their room, down into the valley, and see the lights that beckoned them. Every year, the edge of the city crept closer and closer to the cabin where Danny lived with their family. And every year, Danny grew closer and closer to leaving home and taking off for the city. Eventually, the day came that Danny awoke in their childhood home, but did not return to sleep for the night. 

That day Danny’s parents drove their child into the center of the city, and dropped Danny off at University. When Danny lived in the city, they wrote not of the towering monuments of capitalism, not the office buildings or the LCD billboards. Instead Danny wrote of the streetlights that cast golden pools onto quiet sidewalks at night. Danny wrote of the blue and red and green shine of LEDs from their neighbor’s windows. Danny wrote of the humble lights that shone only for themselves. After four years in the city closest to their home, Danny moved to a new city, one many miles away. 

The new city was not in a valley in the center of a landmass, but nestled along the coast. When Danny moved to the city by the sea, they wrote of new lights. Now Danny wrote of the lights that danced along waves. The light at sunset that swayed and flowed with the tides of the ocean. Danny would sit on driftwood logs, bleached and worn by the sun and the waves, and scribble away at a notebook, attempting to capture some small fraction of the incandescent beauty of a light shining on the water. One day when Danny was sitting and writing, they met someone. 

When Danny met this woman, they wrote of a new light. This woman became the light of Danny's life, and Danny could not find words to describe anything but her. Danny and the woman talked, the two grew close, moved in, and eventually exchanged vows. Now when Danny wrote of the city lights, they were always illuminating their lover. Danny’s lover, she spoke of Danny’s beauty, of their warmth. When Danny wrote of the lights that glinted on the waters, they were outshone by their lover. When Danny’s lover spoke, she said words that filled Danny’s heart, and moved their pen to write even more. Danny’s writing revolved around their lover’s light. 

Over many years, the light grew dimmer and dimmer. The light’s reflection was no longer brilliant, but dull and coarse. Danny wrote less and less. Where Danny used to write weekly, sometimes months, or even a year would pass without them writing. One day Danny could not bring themself to write another word of their lover’s light. It was a long, drawn out split. Danny no longer saw the light in their lover. And their lover no longer spoke of the beauty in Danny. It was a natural end. There were no more words to be said or to be written. Only tumultuous thoughts that lead nowhere. 

Early in their relationship with their lover, Danny had moved with her to a smaller town. It was cozy, and beautiful, but it did not shine iridescent like the cities that Danny had always written of. Danny found themself moving to a new city. This one where a river fed a large lake. When they first returned to city life, Danny could still not bring themself to write of the lights. When they put pen to paper, they found themself writing of the shadows. Writing about the dark corners and alleys tucked away out of sight in cities. Writing about the deepest, coldest parts of the ocean. The writings about sunrises and sunsets were replaced with writings about storms. Danny became angry at themself that they could not write the way they used to. They couldn’t find the words to describe the bright and the illuminating. 

Danny lost confidence in their written voice for many years, ceasing to write entirely.. The years of slowly falling out of love had left a toll on Danny. Their hair had much more gray, their skin many more wrinkles. Over the years that Danny had not written, they still carried around a small notebook. One that fit into their pocket along with a blue pen. One day, Danny found themself sitting at a bus stop late at night. They had been visiting a friend for dinner and talked much of the night away. When Danny boarded the bus, they found themself alone except for the driver. Gazing down the center aisle of the bus, the interior lighting of the bus struck Danny. It was a new, strange, type of beauty. Not bright and shimmering, not cold and roiling. It was calm and peaceful, a melancholy harmony of shadow and reflected light and a cool atmosphere. Danny meandered to the back of the bus, sat down, and began to write of a new type of city.