Tonight is a beautiful night. Dark, drunk and just a little bit tipsy. Beautiful. I am sober. And watchful. For tonight has put a spell on me. As she stumbles, leans to pick out a star off her path, I smell her scent, her wine. She just smiles her secret smile and turns away. Such grace she has, when she lets go. Such beauty. I jump, trying to catch her. I never can. I can just stand and stare in awe.
Someone I once knew, asked me
Why are all sad things beautiful?
December always makes me nostalgic. Its the air, I think. It just makes you look back at what all happened and try, try to find, somehow, somewhere, that place where you went wrong. For you did, didn't you? I know I did. And I can't find where.
A friend of mine once told me to be grateful that I could be nostalgic. He said it was the worst feeling to not be able to. To be numb of that feeling. Alienated. Anesthetized. To accept, once and for all, that we might never again be the way we were. A look in his eyes, he was telling the truth.
I wish I could go back to that hill with that lake where floyd sounded so good. Tonight would have been perfect for it. Or that spot behind the football field from where you can see the bright burning lights of the dockyard in nights like these, and you can lie down on the road and do nothing, just watch stars. And the occasional airplane. Or in Panjim, next to the river, like when I first took a walk there with Moonbeam, and watched the city lights from under a street lamp.
Or the sea, which has become home, a companion. Sometimes, the only listener. But most of the times, the only one I can share my drink with.
...Some for the sea, and some for me.
Tonight is a beautiful night.
Shame its such a waste.