I walked up to his door and rang the bell. He stood there and asked me why I was there, what did I want, and why now?
I said I was there to offer him two choices.
We could spend the rest of our lives in tepid water streams that run parallel to each other... Never draining out, but then again, never meeting, never mingling, never sparking off the flames.
OR
We could merge into one potent whirlpool of energy, completely blending into each other, devouring and replenishing the other, creating a force field that would let nothing else in... But just for a brief time.
Why brief? He asked.
Because brevity is conducive to intensity, I replied. Extension would lead to dilution, weakness and inevitable ennui.
I said I was there to offer him two choices.
We could spend the rest of our lives in tepid water streams that run parallel to each other... Never draining out, but then again, never meeting, never mingling, never sparking off the flames.
OR
We could merge into one potent whirlpool of energy, completely blending into each other, devouring and replenishing the other, creating a force field that would let nothing else in... But just for a brief time.
Why brief? He asked.
Because brevity is conducive to intensity, I replied. Extension would lead to dilution, weakness and inevitable ennui.
How brief?
A few hours, I said.
One day?
Too long, I replied.
One night?
No, it has to be during daylight, I said.
Why?
Because the night has hope, it expects to turn into day.
Okay, he said, let's do it.
Just a few hours, I reminded him.
So we aligned during the hottest part of the day - 3:45 pm, when the sun is at its harshest. And ended just before twilight, when the light turns into a fading memory and the moments can no longer be marred by false promises.
We ceased to exist beyond that point. The tepid waters of our insipid lives disappeared and in their place, there was dark ash everywhere. Then everything turned verdant and fresh, both on the ground and in our dreams.
A few hours, I said.
One day?
Too long, I replied.
One night?
No, it has to be during daylight, I said.
Why?
Because the night has hope, it expects to turn into day.
Okay, he said, let's do it.
Just a few hours, I reminded him.
So we aligned during the hottest part of the day - 3:45 pm, when the sun is at its harshest. And ended just before twilight, when the light turns into a fading memory and the moments can no longer be marred by false promises.
We ceased to exist beyond that point. The tepid waters of our insipid lives disappeared and in their place, there was dark ash everywhere. Then everything turned verdant and fresh, both on the ground and in our dreams.
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