There was magic in the air.
I mean there had to be magic in the air. After a warm hard working day, it was as if the Earth was finally taking rest. For the night to be so beautiful after one of the warmest days of the summer felt unreal. Magical would be a better choice of words.
We found ourselves walking across the river on this massive old bridge. The wooden planks would creak every step we took and through the gaps between them, we could see the water running fifty feet below. There was a breeze running across the bridge, neither cold nor warm. There were street lights just enough to lighten the dark world without taking the beauty away from it.
The sky was orange; the few clouds roaming around in the sky reflected the city life down below. The few visible stars or planets completed the whole picture with their distant glimmer. The sound of a distant concert constantly buzzed in our ears as we strode along. An occasional car broke the calm aural equilibrium, only to add to the beauty, not to take from it.
It was a Saturday night and we were walking through an asleep city breathing long heavy breaths. Those breaths had a hint of youth in it despite the long history the city possessed. Those breaths had the sighs, the cries, blood and sweat of all those who roamed those lands. So were the smiles, the laughs, the joy, the hard work and reward. We were walking through the legacy of those who built this city. We were walking through those who were buried beneath the great buildings and by the banks of the river.
We were insignificant. We were insignificant compared to the great city. We were insignificant compared all those who have lived and died There. We were insignificant compared with the vast body of water running beneath us. We were insignificant compared to the endless beautiful sky. But there we were, feeling like we were at the top of the world, enjoying every bit of the night.
“Isn’t this night just beautiful?” she asked.
It was beautiful indeed. Beautiful is an understatement. No words could justify the grandeur of that night. Words are the only way of explaining feelings and words fail at it without exceptions. We would walk to the other side of the bridge, talking, and I would have a million feelings locked up in my head unable to be translated into words. Such were words.
We found ourselves on the other side of the river. We sat down by the river on the rocks and gazed into the slowly flowing river. Across the river on the other shore, there was a hill and on top, the parliament building. It stood tall and proud while the river, old and majestic, flowed beneath it.
The lights reflected on the dark river and flickered to some rhythm I couldn’t comprehend. It felt like a dance. We could still hear the concert in the background and there must have been people, sober and drunk, dancing to the beats in herds. It was their entertainment. But the lights in the river were dancing for us. The darkness was sitting there right by us enjoying the show, the breeze would send us the occasional compliment and the moon would look upon us from the sky with a motherly kindness.
“I love blank spaces in time. People go on the phone, they read, they play games, listen to music just to fill those. They are just distractions. I like the feeling of being alone and feeling sad. I like thinking about what is wrong. There is an oddly satisfying feeling in it.”
I looked at her eyes while she said that. Through those beautiful dark eyes, I could see the whole universe. I saw galaxies far far away deep in her eyes. She was a reflection of everything ever was. I drowned in the beauty of her eyes and the grandeur of her soul. She was the centre of the universe and the only meaning of existence. A soul so pure sitting next to me, talking, was unreal. My mind exploded into pieces. I had to gather myself together.
“I do too. Those distractions keep us from connecting with our own selves. I like to be with myself and realize my own insecurities.”
“We all have those insecurities that we are reluctant to talk with others eh. That is why I love reading Bukowski. His writing is raw and vulgar. But he is not afraid to say what he feels.”
There she was, talking about us, humans. I was listening. I was talking. She was listening. We talked and talked and talked and talked. Time was insignificant. Space was magnificent. Hours and hours must have passed in between. We were sitting next to each other in this vast space. I felt as if I was sitting inside a vacuum with her. Everything but her was very very far.
But like every good story ever told, it had to end. The night was only so till the Earth wakes up. When the Earth wakes up, the sun tells us that the time has come for us to fall asleep. Such were our lives. Mine at the least. Bidding farewell was hard but had to be done.
“Until next time!” I said.
She disappeared beneath the surface of the river. Slowly. I slowly dissolved into the breeze. If someone were to come in the morning, they’d see foot prints towards the river. There were none from it.