Bubbles

The sky was pitch dark. Not a star to be seen. Etched against that darkness, the moon glowed brighter. A perfect full moon, glowing the perfect hue of amber, like a fire that had burnt out. And the smoldering remains were nothing, if not even more attractive.

He stood watching, mesmerized. A small-ish settlement hove into view. It had, however, one rather large building that naturally attracted his attention. Seemed like a factory of some kind, with quite a few turrets, each of those illuminated by neon lights which bore an uncanny resemblance to the moon's colour. Perhaps, in his ideal land, this is what the place would be like. It would make you stare not because of the extraordinariness of the surroundings, but by a simplicity that transcended the elaborate. He smiled as he turned away, a serene smile, and one that you couldn't quite have made out.

He was thinking of her. What was the one thing he would always associate with her? Her smile? Seeing her from across the street and being mesmerized? The anger that seemed to rest so lightly at the tip of her nose? He reckoned it would probably be none of those, rather it would be her voice. Well, maybe not. Maybe just that one word, "Hello." A word which made him associate a hundred emotions, that seemed to celebrate every moment when the flowers danced and all nature sang. A word which was, at the same time, joyful and apprehensive, concerned and carefree. A word that he would never forget. Or perhaps because there wasnt much else to forget. He would forget none of it, he was sure. It wasnt often that he would feel hit by a tonne of bricks, but this had been one of those days.

It didnt hurt anyway. Those were his last glimpses of a life he had had wanted. Everything was perfect. Except that he hadnt managed to say anything he wanted to. He was gone too far past the line. Not far enough to not come back, but far enough to not risk a failed comeback. He would carry them for ever, and in them seek his inspiration when he needed it. And hope that
he would one day hear the "hello" again, and say more than just "Sorry, wrong number." Walk down that street again. Dream the impossible and convince her. Walk away together. Into a land where nothing mattered, not time, not age.

"Hey, did I tell you I got a haircut?"
"No. You did?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"So you would allow me to serenade you and not worry about whether someone saw you with a hippie or not."
"Shut up. You are just getting carried away."
"Perhaps..."

One day he would have all of the million imagined conversations he had had in real life. She would understand? He didnt know. Maybe he was too young to get into this. Maybe he just needed to let time play out its own game. If it was to happen, it would. or maybe it wouldn't. He had no idea. He needed to follow what he believed in. He could not.

Outside were the paddy fields. Stretching as far as he could see. And a hillock slightly to the left, in the direction from which he had come. They moved on and the scenery changed again. Now it was a river. Wide, but not quite the gushing waters you would expect. They lapped around quietly, the afternoon sun reflecting off them. He smiled again, wondering how much of his ruminations he would ever bring to life, and how much of his new resolve was meant to stay.

There was, he thought, a little bit left.

Then the hungry tide came in and swept it away.