So I looked up at the sky in the evening, the vast expanse of it, and didn't know how to respond to what it did to me. I told Athena "Athe, I'm having a moment."
It was night, and it was a blue sky. Bluish-mauve, if you will. I searched its expanse for stars, and found three. It seemed the natural thing to do, to look up. I muttered something about the transience of everything that such stargazing almost inevitably brings on, but I don't think Athena heard me.
There's something about feeling the solitude of company. Something so undefinable, its almost pleasant. It's what you feel when you sit on the ground with your knees pulled up to your chin, and look up at the night sky with your friends sitting close by. It doesn't matter, because it's really just you and the sky. And them and the sky. Never all of you together, and the sky. Never.
I wanted to freeze that moment, that point in time. Just somehow, by some sort of inexplicable intervention, negate the possibility of it passing and never ever happening, quite like that, ever again. It was somewhere I wanted to be. To remain in. The thought of even this passing, felt like a weight.
I was fine when it passed. John Mayer finished singing "Gravity", Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah" began, and I didn't prolong or stretch what remains beautiful only if it is held onto during the lifespan of it's beauty, and no longer.
These summer evenings...they're to die for, and they won't last.
I'll remember that night sky, because we won't be young forever.
It was night, and it was a blue sky. Bluish-mauve, if you will. I searched its expanse for stars, and found three. It seemed the natural thing to do, to look up. I muttered something about the transience of everything that such stargazing almost inevitably brings on, but I don't think Athena heard me.
There's something about feeling the solitude of company. Something so undefinable, its almost pleasant. It's what you feel when you sit on the ground with your knees pulled up to your chin, and look up at the night sky with your friends sitting close by. It doesn't matter, because it's really just you and the sky. And them and the sky. Never all of you together, and the sky. Never.
I wanted to freeze that moment, that point in time. Just somehow, by some sort of inexplicable intervention, negate the possibility of it passing and never ever happening, quite like that, ever again. It was somewhere I wanted to be. To remain in. The thought of even this passing, felt like a weight.
I was fine when it passed. John Mayer finished singing "Gravity", Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah" began, and I didn't prolong or stretch what remains beautiful only if it is held onto during the lifespan of it's beauty, and no longer.
These summer evenings...they're to die for, and they won't last.
I'll remember that night sky, because we won't be young forever.
2 face(s) in the crowd:
Sigh. It was indeed a beautiful evening
I hate that not taking up Edit-Pub is depriving me of such sensory experiences.
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