Shadows Of Dust | ✓

Part (I) Ballad of love

     It happened in the summer of youth.

    It's when blood blotted and nearly shrunk.

    No one cared and spared a glance until it's nearly hailing above head.

    The weather was magnificent, a sportic breeze howled over the earth with rustling and frolic. And no one knew when the fluttering sense would be sounded as harassment. Youth— a fresh air, the pleasure of rapid emotions, palpable expression moulded in the sweetness, lying in the thick grass.

     "If love is like a feather, then it must fly all over," he mused.

     It was almost like a savage desire to tear away the staying.

    Nevertheless the slow blow slowly faded, when the chatter of the crowd filled the room. Another day, another dance! Principals and ideas, never should merge together. For one, it's like a candle flame around the moth. Slowly burning while you never had a clue. . .

     Everything was well furnished, the great chandelier was dimming bright: the glow rounded in the end, would touch each face and they would burst. But, it's not a fantasy where the demon and witch must merge.

      He's happy in his little space. Exhausted from smiling too hard, pretending to be interested in political economy where the high gets higher, lower gets lowest. He danced with every lady politely, as if he's bewitched with every charm he couldn't resist.

     He's ready to dust off, perhaps a little wine can help. Out of the corner, a lady in emerald piqued his interest. Nonsensically the explanation would've been hard to explain, yet his feet strode towards the strange beauty.

     Beauty is mysterious.

     Like obscure glasses, finding the concealed truth.

     The only truth was, the night was way ahead to prevail over any eclipses.

      He finally came to face the beauty, her face was celestial, seasonings of smells enlightened the ambience. And he's drawn like a magnetic atom.

     "May I have a dance?"

     The lady flashed her white teeth in affirmation.

    A hand on her slender waist, she put her hand on his shoulders. The rhythm slowly sank into veins, slowly grasping into the void of hums. Everything faded except them. He twirled her around, she bobbed her head and laughed.

    "Are you new? I haven't seen you before."

    "Uh-huh! I was always there, old enough to be an oak tree in the garden."

    "Humorous! You have a certain beauty that can't be unseen."

    They slowly stretched out their arms and music that had given them flair, now rushing to fasten. He spun her, her grip was firmer than before.

    "Beauty is objective. Always a sight of beholder."

     "Ah, there's a point where it shall pass on the beholders."

     "If you can find beautiful meaning in beautiful things that perhaps count as cultivation."

      Now the rhythm was getting slower, as in hollowness vibrated an enigmatic energy and the lady's dusted eyes bore into his brown orbs.

      "Trashes are meaningless if you mean to say, but morals never be the conciser."

     The lady gave a hearty laugh.

    "Nothing exists in immortal society. Neither a thousand centuries of love."

    "Love conquers everything."

    "Yeah, even the blood drinkers."

      He almost blinked but blinded by glow light, it was hardly visible. Like those seasonal buds trying hard to get out.

    "You must not be serious."

     She shakes her head, her affection gaze fallen in order to love. Yes, it's love.

     "If all art was visible to the world, perhaps nobody would have chased to read between the lines."

    The howls never hunt with a warning. For them, it's observing and haunting the prey ever slowly.

    "Art is for artistic minds. I have never been with a woman before who speaks her mind."

     "Don't, don't you see how you have been with the wrong company but mine?

      He drew a slow laugh and laughed at the cold night, perhaps it's the fault of that soft, tender, gleaming feeling: bubbling up in his swelling breast that he couldn't but nodded. The slow rapture of growing finally nibbled on his neck, it's finally red.

    "Do you believe in forevermore?"

    "Oh! I don't. I find it amusing how Romeo-Juliet fell into the trap, for me it's just a silly tale."

    "They died for love."

     "Life is love, but isn't it mysterious?"

     "It's a visual of hope that tomorrow may come with a chirping bird and the vast sky would seem an illusion of beauty."

      "Dare you to say, beauty is an illusion."

      She curled her eyebrows as her gown slowly brushed against the ground. They're floating around the marvellous floor. The world seamlessly chatted with wine and spirits but they, lost in the world. And the world's like a magical theatre where fairy tales and realities intertwine.

       He grinned at her, dipped her slowly for one last time.

      A tangled feeling rushed back, fishing out for more mysterious ways to hold her back. But the night was glowing in firedrake-red. They didn't pay heed, the frisky need of getting shifted was evident.

    Monsters keep at bay, when they're tucked away.

     The whispers of mellow vines finally gave in.

      Before she could murmur anything, they were abruptly halted in their movement. Red colour spattered in her gown, she jerked off her arms from him.

      The intruder apologized immediately for the red wine, but vintage red never wiped out. The lady wore her sympathetic smile and slowly slipped away in the crowd: which animatedly participated in every chaos. He shouted at her falling silhouette.

     "Do I have your name?"

      "Julias—

     Just like smoke around the fire-burn, she faded as if she was never here. History isn't prudent with details. You believe in what you read, as you see. What's the guarantee of spilling inks?

       The night died with clatter of sounds.

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Following up — part (ii)