T'was a Night in Georgia

The night is dark and the garden flow down to a stream of people concentrated around a the centerpiece of a monument. By the edge, near a river was a man and a woman dancing. The woman was a surgeon. She had anything she could ask for, looks, brain, and job. But the man — the poor man, alas, had nothing to his name. Worst still, his heart was stuck. Frozen, broken, no one knew including himself.

With a hand on her back and another embrace, they dance to and by two step. Then —

“Where are you from?” She ask.

“I suppose America.” He nodded and gave a smile.

“Where in America?” She lean in. “In Georgia? Since we are here, it may as well be your home.” “You are warm,” he said then went on “but I did not say which America. It could be Central America or South America.” Seeing her reaction, unsatisfied, he answered “Yes, it is Georgia. You were correct. This,” he wave a hand over the horizon “is my home. My family been here for many years and I cannot leave it.” Then his face grew mum and he stare in to her eyes.

“Would you stay and live within Georgia for all of your life?”

Her eyes widen and she pauses. Then he said “I am willing to part ways if you do not wish to live in Georgia but I am willing to stay if you do not know.” “That is rather inefficient.” She said, flatly.

“I know.” And he let go of her hand and began to walk away.

“Wait! If not me, then who is the woman you love?”

He cease and looking in her eyes, he answer “The last time I saw her was six years ago. And one day, her face showed up in the newspapers. She killed herself.” With that, his head lower and he walk away, becoming a shadowy figure and eventually faded away.

He had a broken heart. Unable to move on, unable to live, he could not live with another woman for the rest of his life. His heart was too broken to be mended and repaired, beyond even the capable surgeon. She felt a dwell of pity bubbling up in her and tears flew and shatter like stars of the night before the rise of the Sun.