“As the pall of day fell – hues of a great number stretched across the welkin: the goldens turning to oranges and pinks and finally to the beginnings of black as the Sun kissed farewell; she could not stop herself from being receptive to a strange stirring, a stirring that was strangely familiar at the same time. Having garnered a lofty fondness for daylight, for the promise it brings, she encountered trouble in the recent admittance of an uneasy disposition, that the Temptress representing the other side of day promised more. She promised to bring, and she did indeed bring, wrapped in her cloak of black; dangers of such calibre, that threatened to burn down every wall she ever put up, and did indeed burn every last wall down to leave her standing – naked, vulnerable and in a state of ecstasy so palpable that the Temptress of the Night would forever be the recipient of the greatest degree of gratitude.
Now that almost every wall lay in ashes, half-hearted attempts to put up temporary picket fences were employed; she tried harder as she saw him come sauntering across the grounds. His face belied his state of being, the strong taut jawline belying his slightly frantic, palpable insides that lay whirling a little at the sight of her, a lazy smile cementing such façade, making her realise that it was not long now, it was not long till he came up to her; and then, she would lose the little that was left, lose the last of all that she had single-handedly, painstakingly built – the high walls, the fences of varying nature, all of every possible restraint that she had strengthened over time. There was but one thing that was of slight assurance to her timid self, that one thing that she believed would never fail her, such belief soothing her hurried breaths a little.
She looked up to see him walking over the last of the debris and the soot, and as he headed towards her; she could not help but be drawn to him as he playfully jumped over the remnants of a little flame and then bending down, moved aside a boulder hindering his way. Feeling her scared eyes on him, he looked up, unable to hold himself back from smiling at a countenance as beautiful as hers, and wished he could tell her how she was trying to hold on to something in vain, something that had given itself up because it knew the magnitude of what was coming its way; that if she chose to vehemently rebel against the force of such obvious affections, it would all be futile exertion.
As he now stood a few feet away, she stopped making any effort at any sort of restoration. Now, as she stood there, she smiled a little, having rested all her faith in that little circle drawn around her in chalk, that little circle that nobody had stepped into, ever – her refuge, her sanctuary; it held her and only her, always. The degree of faith that she had in that circular outline, was staggering in stature. Staggering in stature, on every occasion, on every other occasion. He stood before her, smiling, and bowed his head slightly. Then, without pretence, without further ado, he stepped into the circle, one foot at a time.”
The first time I met you.
Do you still remember it as vividly as I do?