Twilight Zone

"Twilight. I have always loved twilight."
"Me too." she said.
"There's something magical about twilight."
"I know. I've felt that way a little too often." she said, as she ran her finger around his earlobe. Much to her satisfaction, he winced, and she wore a smug look of satisfaction, almost delight, on her face.

As the setting sun shone golden-orange on the bed of salt-water, he looked deep into those blue eyes, eyes that could almost resemble a dragon's in fierceness.

She guessed his thoughts correctly, and told him - "And your eyes are intense. Bottomless. No beginning or end. Like that of a vacuous abyss."

"Vacuous abyss?!? Sounds gothic."
"So are you, my love." said she, bemused.
"What's so gothic about me?"
"Imagery, my love."

He smiled, but said nothing though he felt he ought to have. She crossed her palms with sand, and blew the sand away; "Mi amour..." she whispered to the winds.

"Make my night." he whispered in her ear as she blushed a shade of crimson.

They say that the human mind has a very strong sense of smell. It is connected to intuition. Almost, perhaps. Bah, I digress. Some sights and smells are enough to drive a man crazy. Water on naked skin. Or as a song goes, "Black lace on sweat". A woman's love is one of those very things.

---

I woke with a start, gasping for breath, watching hues of hell hem down to harmony. Recurring dreams. Or visions of truth? Heh. I glanced around to check if she'd been woken up. To my relief, she was still sleeping so peacefully. Childlike, almost.

I lifted the white linen off, tucked her properly and walked round the room a couple of times. On opening the doors of that particular balcony, was something I loved much, because of the effect it had on a person standing there. It would always seem that the person was balancing himself on the very top of a tall cathedral spire, crouching with the ease of a skilled Ninja warrior: facing the elements, stalking his prey in perfect silence and waiting to jump off into the sky.

The wind on my body and a fine spray of the facing sea on my eyes. And the night sky.

Billions of hot balls of gas burning billions of miles away.

I can ride any road, go anywhere; but no highway can take me down the inner catacombs of my mind. While I did that- you, my love, were sleeping.

I looked back at her, smiled a smile within, pulled a cigarette out of the pack, ran my thumb down the rotary wheel that lights the flame of a lighter, and lit my stick of enlightenment. A deep drag and an exhalation followed.

This smoke, this sensuous night, this love, how much of it is real? Instruments of the universe to condition our minds to be blind to the real. Deception. Maya, as the ancients would say.

Brahman.
Or reality.
One of the many words to describe the cosmic truth.

Who are you, my love? Rather, what are you? What am I? A few molecules bunched up to form a shape. With a bit of consciousness, perhaps.

I want to look through the eyes of the cosmos.
I want to be the universe.

A heart stirred, and so did the body connected to the heart. She was waking up, confused in her sleep, as to why the comforting hand was not beside her.

She'll wake up soon.

I stared into the sky, saw the constellations fade away into light as the sun rose and I flicked the butt away, filling me with a warmth I've come to know and love.

There's something magical about twilight.
Twilight. I have always loved twilight.