Vanilla Skylight

"They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects." - Jane Austen, "Pride and Prejudice"


The stars streak across the celestial abyss, falling endlessly into the darkness. A brief ripple tearing through the night. The wind carries his name to your ears -- in a song you simply know too well. The moon's dust falls to the park.

Then, reverberating along the surface of your skin, sending chills up your spine, you shiver at the foreign touch of another like the shadows dancing around. In the veil of stars, the warmth of an intimate stranger's embrace. Oh, how it all feels so new, yet, a somewhat branded familiarity of it all.

Every passing moment, in the silence of his touch, searching for words to express -- it is all so surreal. And then, he whispers along the wind. Honest simple words rising to the surface; of a torn and misguided heart, you ask, is it true?

You turn to face him and you know it is so. You awake, drowning in the warm pools of his eyes, his fingers whispering sweet nothings through your hair. And the last bow hits, he whisks you away in his embrace.

But, as always, you should allow yourself sink only in perfection momentarily.