Walking upon the Calle Mayor, passing the red of nearby buildings, a thumping heart swells so wide. He wants, as he could think on it, to see over his shoulder to a past, igniting his eyes with all he once had. For he says, “I love. Though, do not love enough to be stable, in it, as I want to be.”
Instability in love, is better than no love. A requirement of strength, is meant to wrap itself over bleeding arms, over aching legs, as the moonlight is swept aside. Our pain, gradually loosens, to wander itself over the barest stretch of cliffs. We cannot die by love, unless we are willing to empty ourselves to be carried by winds. A freedom, a certain merging with the wandering of ourselves, is us as the pain, flooding over cliffs like waterfalls. We give to the Earth, our tear-stains, as we quiver from such a swollen, beating heart.
“I recount the days when I had something for the scenery of fields, when I could see the beyond, and had no sting to my eyesight. My freedom was enjoyable, in all I could witness. She was there, beneath the moon, and my feet were free. I could roam, I could breathe the scents of her carried by the wind, to me, while her world and mine, collided,” says Joel, while he stops to look upwards at the fading daylight. Though, the season is summer, and the month is August, there is a sweetness like autumn, rushing up the nostrils of this dreaming man.
Flowers adorn the sides to the walkways, parted from the path of walking. Their magnificence is coupled by their charming aroma, becoming the intake for Joel’s sense of smell. A sweetness, airy in its Nature, all of stem, leaf, and petal, gives to Joel the remarkable sensation of a slight pleasantness.
All the oncoming stars, blinded somewhat by light pollution, dots the current wash of navy blue, being merged in with the stain of a hovering moon. It is that Joel is staring upwards, that he does not comprehend what is before himself, hovering in an even greater wielding of darkness, than ever this night could be acclaimed of showing.
She stands, at once, before him, hazy like any mist that overwhelms a glade. Her complexion, observant as the moon, yet ablaze like the sun, is there to rain bleak torment upon who she espies. She is beautiful, colored by the summer heat, agleam by exercise, and charming in the arrangement to her attire. Flaps and folds extended so vertically to her feet, though leave shoulders bare to the remaining daylight. She is so revealed by her face, that she might be seen for the greatest of beauties to grace the whole of Spain. Why to not love this woman, of her marvelous presence, though here to shove melancholy in the direction of Joel?
It is that Joel had been staring up at the night sky in the time that Lisa had stepped from the shadows, that he is unaware of her presence.
He is unaware of the mood that has been lifted to fit this environment, narrowed and narrowing further, between Joel and Lisa. She steps to the closer presence of her beloved, held arms out to the spread of his shadow. Not him, though to the what’s not meant to be of him. His darkness, as it is seemingly bright to her, bright to the eyes that are amber in coloring.
She steps to him, landing in his grasp, weeping an overjoy of emotional benevolence directly down into his arms. Love weeps, as a love weeps, as a beloved weeps, and pounding hearts are astir. She cries morsels beyond the lids to her eyes, sweating dark to the light of the moon. For it stretches through to them, the boldest array of gleam.
She cries. She weeps. She elapses time to the many seconds beyond, where night can wash itself by her sobs, can rise its dark hands by those flooding cheeks.
“Hold me!” she cries, and says, “For once, do not let me go!” breathing inwards and outwards the choking sobs, as it is that her heart beats to a rapidness, so unlike the stilled one of Joel.
He is looking upon her with a simple and pitying expression, not revealing the needed sincerity for all that is occurring.