“You see,there are days that even the coldness of life cannot reach. Days that are safe, far, far away from the darkness of everydays.”
There is something so delicious about residual warmth.
Heat muffled in between sheets
Warmth that smoulders, woven in the wool
The wonderful heat that hangs on a coat that is loaned to you
It is so easy to catch and hold. Something that looks too precious to be free. Too precious for me to have, this tranquility within arm’s reach.
But here it is, like a gorgeous, red ribbon that beckons me to pull it open and watch as it unravels. Then it turns out the ribbon was closed around a bouquet. So with a single touch, an effortless tug, the world blooms red with this glorious heat and I have an inexplicable, breathtaking warmth pooling around me. There is happiness fluttering in my veins, residual warmth seeping in this heart.
You see,there are days that even the coldness of life cannot reach. Days that are safe, far, far away from the darkness of everydays. Days when I live inside a snow globe or a bottle thrown at sea, the kind of bottle made from almost opaque dark green glass. And the glass is so thick that from the inside, I cannot even hear the roars of life. There is no world outside, save for the soft waves that undulate to-and-fro. But if I try, if I should want to try, I would drift to sleep to the gentle sound of waves crashing in my ear—and warmth all around.
The wind blew across the prairie where I laid, carrying with it the scent of foreign lands.
I could smell the salt of the ocean on its breath, and I shivered a bit at the cold that it spread. There was the unmistakable tang of fish, but also the freshness that you get when you are far, far at sea. I could hear the crashing of the waves, this soothing “Shhhhh” sound. But also a soft animal cry that I could not place.
Today, in a small piece of land in the middle of nowhere, I got a hello from the South Pole,or the North Pole or Norway or Alaska or….
And I was content.
Because the wind, like a messenger, also carried the picture of that beautiful afternoon I had with it. The tall grass and the warm sunlight that makes you sleepy, the smell of wild flowers and freshly laboured soil. The happiness from a giggle, the fluttering of butterfly wings.
This afternoon will never die. The wind will carry it until it reaches a soul that can uncover all the treasures it holds. And it will be safe there, this memory. But it will eventually fade away, as all things do. It is the kind of feeling that gets lost in between the years. But only one scent, on a day like any other, and the memory comes rushing back to you. And suddenly, the summer when you were 16 is here again. Suddenly, the world is new and so huge that it’s a little intimidating. And like this, out of nowhere, you find peace.