Cerulean

Ich lausche dem rauschenden Tosen des Baches
Ich stehe hier staunend, und was ich sach’ is’
Ich bleibe beileibe hier noch einen Tach’ bis
Die Dunkelheit Funkeln zeigt, und es Nacht ist
Alltäglich ist ohne dich – hach – trist
Doch wenn ich meine Zeit so weit weg am Bach frist’
Mich im Sternenlicht wärme – ich weiß,
          dass du kommst und mich wachküsst\

Golden light floods the sky as the sun kisses the horizon. The rustling trees perfect the silence of the tepid evening in late summer. A mild breeze swirls around his ankles as he stands barefoot on the asphalt which is still warm from the day. Birds pass by some lonely fair weather clouds shining in the rich purple of ripe plums.

Her long, soft skirt nearly touches the ground as it sways with each step. She tucks her dark hair behind her ear, revealing an earring with a small, white feather swinging in the air, shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

A crooked smile curls his lips as he turns and realizes being followed by her. His eyes wander from the orange of her skirt through the burgundy of her top to find the brown of her eyes. Warm like the ending day. Deep like a long conversation. Clear like a glimpse directly into one’s soul.

A breath of wind unwinds a single wisp of her hair, floating in the air for a second before settling on her face just between the two birthmarks on her cheek. A smile reaches her eyes. Her apricot lips part to reveal her white teeth.

He takes a step towards her, his eyes fixed on hers, ignoring the vibrant colours of his surroundings. A beam of light breaks through the trees and lets the asphalt to their feet glow. A soft raindrop hits his green shirt as he rests his hands on her hips.

More drops begin to complete the summer rain. Drops on her arms, drops on his hair, drops on the asphalt. Drops sending warm shivers throughout his body. Drops of a temperature perfect for the end of a hot summer day.

Her hand touches his back. His hand reaches out to her cheek, caresses her ear and the small white feather. Her eyes gleam as they come closer. His eyes shift from hers to her mouth. The trees silence as if they hold their breath for a second to admire the unbearable tension. The world stops when their lips meet for a kiss of gold and crimson.

Is a perfect moment – in retrospect – less perfect, just because you experienced it with the wrong person? Does a moment lose its power simply because the person you shared it with isn’t going to share any more moments with you?

You once said that if you were ever going to write a romance, this scene would be a core element of the story. I said that I’d like to create a short film of this singular event – only showing many small details, without ever revealing the whole picture. To leave more space for everyone’s own story.

It’s a pity that what we had isn’t there any more. That we parted just like we did after this kiss. It was a good time, full of adventures and butterflies. I won’t let go of these powerful memories that shaped who I am today. Sometimes, I think about the old days of dancing in the rain. And then I smile.

It’s the little shortcomings that make life perfect in the end. Like earth spinning around a tilted axis, giving us the seasons of the year. Like summer rain on a hot day. Like the few fair weather clouds that round out a sunset with all its mighty colours.

And then, after all, everything will be okay. Without any “maybe”.