As the light of day vanishes behind the horizon, its last glimmers are reflected in the rushing water of the river. A cold breeze cuts straight through her and she can breathe again. She runs her hand through the blades of grass at her feet. They feel wet to the touch, but she cannot help but let herself drift onto the ground. With the hill at her back, her head disappears into the hood of her jacket…
Twilight departs and the night approaches.
Staring up into the sky, the stars are gradually blanketed by passing clouds on a pitch-black night. Not even the light of the street lamps can reach her here…The river bank is as it once was, an epitome of constant movement in an ever-changing world of darkness, yet at the same time cut off from everything.
Enthralled by the blackening of a moonless heavens, she years for the sun to bring no other day but this one…She can never escape the night and neither would she want to. It encapsulates everything, which calls her back to the present moment.
The winds of the coming storms passed her by, whispering sweet nothings in her ear of a world that’ll never without cost. If we live only with the hope but without action, she wonders, then what of the future? Sooner or later, it is inevitable that hope shall turn sour. After all, there can be no hope without a certain level of expectation. Deep inside her, hope died long ago, yet she cannot shake the feeling that things never change. It grips her one last time, it wont let go…not truly.
She may pray, trust or believe, but what has happened before will happen again. As though, she was watching an overpowering current approach and sweep her under without any effort, she cannot succumb, but she wants to… If she could only catch its momentum at just the right moment, there might be something left of her at the end, but who’d want that?
The temperature dips. She barely notices the soft rustling in the wind. Still the cold doesn’t reach her. Wrapped in the tender embrace of true night, it feels as though it could endure for all eternity…as deceivingly unlikely, perhaps it does, and none of us ever seriously notice…
All is night, though nobody truly sees the night for what it is. When she is played out and used up, it pulls her close. Ready to conceal her under its wings for just a little while longer. Each time, she swears, it shall be the last, but we cannot break free from the desires which define us…from that which makes us who we are, when we cast the die through the choices we make.
In the dusky hours of truth, the night gives and takes. Before dawn, lives are forever changed. In time, she will join them. She’ll never be the same once again. Her mind grows weary at the thought…if only the die wasn’t cast for her by the fragmented mind of another…if only her fate was hers to shape and not a fraction of mankind…if only…
At the heart of night, she gazes into unfathomably deep abyss of the cosmos. After a while, her sorrow fades. Carried afar by thoughts of the unconditional, and for just an instance, she becomes worth fighting for…worth living for…and all the trouble inbetween.
As she’ll walk away, the night shall soon pass her by. There is never enough time to allow herself to be completely enveloped for long enough by its mysterious edge. Her curiosity to explore its wonders never ceases. She can never get her fill…and before she is just out of sight, she shall always turn to glance back at its the water glistening in the light of the stars in such sweet sorrow, as though their light could never cease.
QuantumMediocrity 