On a nice note.
I'm familiar with this expression. I've heard it a zillion times before but I’ve never been able to engage with it like I have today:
There's this magical book I'm reading (and naming the title feels less private, a betrayal).
The two main characters are in love in a surrealistic, distant way that defies all the clichés that come to mind.
They end most of their days on a nice note; with a long, sweet kiss that's eager (without leading to more) and humble at the same time (because these boundaries are always respected).
When returning to my own life, I think that I cannot end my day on a nice note because I currently have no one to kiss.
And that's where I make my mistake. Nice notes, after all, don't have to involve two people and romance.
I've been associating this expression with the wrong moments.
Right now I'm lying in my room, on my side, breathing into the freshly scented pillow. My headphones are on my head, connected to a blaring, white radio. My ears are filled with a man's velvety voice that smooths out the worries living in my chest.
My windows are open, the coolness from outside spills inside.
I smell dampness hanging from every tree's branches.
I'm typing this article slowly, savouring tonight; hurry-less.
Until sleep tries to, cheekily, hold my hand.
I give in because it’s sweet and easy.
I close my eyes realizing I too, have ended my day on a nice note that's still a peaceful -yet more mundane- version of the story's.
