You hold back the sunset in hopes that the day will never end. Your eyes soak up the vermillion colours before they are burned into your mind, immortalized. Watching the lavender sky cheerily burn, you realize that you cannot prevent the passionate flames from exhausting themselves. So with a sigh and a shrug, you instead focus on the calming, dependent sound of the waves crashing against the sandy shore.
And you wait.
The scene is simple:
two chairs, glasses, and wine on
a table await.
The waves are dancing as if to avoid the shimmering heat of the sun as it descends to be swallowed up by the ocean. The ocean is breathless, mesmerized by the sun's slow but inevitable progress, and it is patient because for all of the sun's blazing heat, the ocean is vast and it is deep and within those depths, a truth lies dormant. A truth that could turn to ice the pulsing, warm blood in your veins. A truth that cannot be seen under the harsh light of day. It is a quiet truth, barely a whisper, and within its glacial core, there lies peace and calm and security. That's when the frigid icy walls melt by the rays of the sunrise. But the sun is not gloriously returning to its rightful place in the sky from the depths of the ocean at the moment. It is now closer than ever to the point where sky and ocean meet. Observe how the waves lap even more hungrily at the cusp of the sun, as if intending to drag it down.
approaches, blanket in hand
Weak light hides your smile.
As the sun finally surrenders to the ocean's embrace more happily than it would ever admit, I follow suit as I enter the comfort of your arms. I feel them tighten on my back ever so slightly for a moment before we both draw back and you tilt your head towards the chairs. Neither of us utters a word; we don't have to, after all. The crisp pop as you open the decanter provides the necessary first note to the flowing symphony of the wine as you pour it into the glasses. I squint, trying to decide whether it is red or white, but then I am content with accepting that it is the colour of the sunset, what's left of it anyway. Sunset Wine…it tastes like a sunset would too, passionately bittersweet, valiantly lively, and it burns my throat briefly after we toast, as if to ensure that it leaves some trace of its existence.
We sit in silence for a while and watch the transformation in front of us unfold, for as long as the wine lasts. And once the last drop is drained, I lay down the blanket into the gentle curve of a sand dune, and time slips from my grasp, almost without effort.
The colourless sky
Trembles as the ocean
Takes the sun's essence.
The truth of who we are is as different as night and day, because the things we do during those nights and days are so different. After all, who would now recognize the pristine pearly orb, untainted by the truth it experienced in the ocean's depths, by its daylight self? Who would say that this ethereal, perfectly serene moon would ever reveal itself to be its vibrant and charming self, the sun? But they are one and the same, appearing when the circumstances are right. While the sun begins its reign in the sky as impulsive, needing to be chastened by the ocean when twilight draws near, now the sun, with almost regal authority, governs its motions from peaceful swaying to wrathful waves.
It would be inadequate to say that I am the sun and you are the moon, or that the opposite is true, because we become one and the same. It's a wonderfully mysterious process, once that takes time, much like the maturation of the wine, but is a wonderful dance, just for two. And only the stars know the full extent of this truth, and twinkle knowingly as the hours go by. Then the ocean reluctantly lifts the sun back into the heavens because it becomes too fiery to hold on to, the stars are blinded by its light and so their truth is hidden from us until we meet again.