In the midst of all the sorrow,
Sometimes there comes joy.
Unsought, not bought,
It comes and goes in an instant, impossible to grasp,
Like an unexpected siren that heralds a life saved.

Sometimes you feel both at the same time,
Both sorrow and joy.
These are the best times.

Like the time you were walking down the foreign street at dusk,
Feeling as unlike an alien as you’ve ever felt.
The water of the canal, burning with glory, reflected the sun
As a man rowed his boat alone, making very little noise,
Creating only the slightest of ripples.

And then you were standing on the bridge,
Your hand in her hand,
Both pairs of eyes fixed on what is never fixed, what is always in flux.
The sky. The water. The bridge that would one day collapse.
You thought to yourself: tomorrow
This will all still be here:
The sky. The water. The bridge.

But in the late afternoon on the next day you walked with your hands in your pockets,
And as the sun set
You grasped your fingers tight to the solid, stable, immobile rail,
That would not, that could not flee.

Again there was a man rowing alone in his boat,
Making very little noise,
Creating only the slightest of ripples.
You watched him,
You were him.

They came at the same time then.
In that moment,
As the sun set on the foreign town where you were now a stranger,
You felt both sorrow and joy.