It was one of those moments, where names did not matter. The night was dark, but not enough to marr the faces. Amongst the sea of faces, there was One. A beautiful stranger.
The beautiful stranger was a mystery, akin to an unopened door. The stranger was being watched, and the stranger in turn, watched. The stranger spoke, and it was like an angel has spoken. The words did not matter, it was the movements of the stranger's lips. Lips that wrapped themselves around the rim of a slim wine glass. Lips that parted to let out streams of intelligent words; smooth toned, like golden sands slowly sailing their way towards the dune - note the crescendos. Lips that left much to the imagination...
The stranger was joined by another stranger of equal caliber.
Were they immortals, sent down to earth to dazzle the earthlings? Sent down, so the trees would grow to be most lush - since the leaves whispered at the sight at of these beautiful strangers, yes they did, the treetops were rustling vigorously, lending on the powers of the winds. Sent down, so the sun might shine most bright - since the rays seemed to cast a halo around every object, at the sight of these mysterious strangers, yes they did, the sun has learned to spread its light to the less beauteous children of Mother Nature.
It was one of those times, one might feel, that it would be worth all the punishments in the world, to just steal bites from the fruit of sin in Eden's garden. For these strangers.
The earthlings yearned to get close, to open the doors to these mysteries, to unravel all there was to unravel, to savor all there was to savor - every scent, sight, sound, move, and taste. To kill off the curiosity with swords of knowledge, and walk away a learned disciple of these Strangers' lives.
Yet. The earthlings desired to leave the doors sealed, to keep the lid of this Pandora's Box on; to live by the will of imagination, for the excitement of guesswork fueled the fierce flames of temptations.
The beautiful Strangers departed into the gentle folds of the night, as softly as the mists, until their backs merged with the shadows cast by orange streetlamps....
One would wonder if these beauteous beings were simply figments of a rich imagination, and to think about them, even dream about them, makes the world seem more vast with each passing thought. Soon, it seemed, they appeared everywhere and everyone looked like them, for a brief fraction of the second. Perhaps they were surreal, perhaps their existence were forged.
And you were about to forget them until you saw one of them today; living, breathing, as touchable as the very memory you embed them into.
The fresh waves of pain came in torrents, the exact temper of an angry ocean.... You wish you could turn back time.
Ah. Beautiful strangers.
