Seated on the steps outside, relishing the cold mountain air and sifting through the fragments of displaced joy that now lie scattered in his body and soul. A distant look into the faded horizon as dusk settles, giving a similar fading thought to the inner angers and doldrums that so long troubled him. Relishing the peace, within and without, she prays for a little longer, a little more. Anything to preserve this moment in time when all lies still and the momentary chirp of the lurking evening bird, and shrill cricket sounds give an ambient compliment his state of mind.

And as she looks up into the clear night sky, reliving a childhood of mapping out constellations and spotting shooting stars, she but only wishes for some company. That to which she no longer detaches herself, and stare at those cosmic globes of light which bear common wonder to them. With each twinkling star, she draws up wondrous thoughts of what is and what can be. A fleeting touch. A wondrous glance. A cheery smile. A knowing wink.

A deep breath. A sigh. An acceptance that this is not yet hers, momentarily. For what poetic justice, that in such distant stars, casting their distant and lonely light upon our earth shall man cast upon his eye in solitude and yearn paradoxically for everything but such loneliness.

In such ironies, she girds himself against the throes of his life, assured of the finiteness of it. Casting a random thought to the momentarily distant but beautiful glow that she has entrusted his thoughts to, she contemplates a supernova. Such an explosion reminiscent of an outburst of cosmic passion, revealing the inner being and workings to all to bear in wonder.

So she looks up to the stars and in their distant light is reassured, she does not stand alone.


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