The night sky glows time and time again.
In its entire splendor it is still magnified by the flashes of light that fill it for a moment. I spend the night enjoying the magnificence of the gloomy clouds until it is lit by a sudden glow that is followed by raindrops hitting the earth.
The night brings the cold.
As I sit upon the cracked stone balcony and I enjoy the momentary glory of the night the loud echoes that follow it I can’t help be reminded that night we spent together in a vacant place surrounded by nothing but the enjoyable silence.
It was a similar night to this, the inkling night had taken over yet we remained present in an empty room surrounded by paintbrushes and a window pan that revealed the world to us. Yet despite crackling thunder and the sounds of the raindrops colliding with the ground you were distant from it all; consumed by your painting. You were painting an image that did not take place in this world, a beautiful lie to a painful truth. The colours matched reality yet took place somewhere else.
I stood behind you while you sat on your pedestal making your image take shape on a blank canvas. At that instance the painting paid no importance to me but you took its place. From your quick glances you took upon me followed by a brief smile that I reciprocated with one of my own.
I wish it lasted longer.
That night that felt endless as I sat as silent as the room that accompanied it, because now a difference silence occupies this space. It is a silence that I cannot bear. It doesn’t provide the warmth that the memory of you serves. So as I sit beside this window pan that reveals the world to me I wish but for a moment that along with the claps of the night, that mock me with its repetition, that it returns me to that night.
That darkness that carried a blissful memory has been returned to nothing as my eyes are blinded by the light that returns me to my reality.