As I walked into the restaurant, she was getting up from her table delicately brushing crumbs over her frock, wiping her lips, holding hankies by her naked milky white palms. She pushed the chair aside with one hand, holding her frock by its plates with the other and walked towards me, I noticed that her hair fell over her shoulders covering the back of her neck, which I always adored her for. 'miss excuse me please, you are standing in the way', yes, of course, the man needed room, but why now, at this very moment, when I was beginning to ascend into the alpines of an emotional momentum with the girl who presently was heading towards the door, and just for a fleeting second, turned over to where I was standing transfixed.
she walked away, carrying with her the thread of connection that existed only for a fleeting second and I acquiesced with the thread pulling me, as I followed so did the whole atmosphere of the restaurant, the waiter's patience, men and women chatting in the dim yellow light something important here, something mysterious there, the table clothes seemed to follow us both as I steeped on to the pavement, white and delicate, carrying multitudinous colors, supporting weights of significance, how the cloth just settled into a cloak of utmost honesty granting the table’s top its quality and how it just slipped at the corners like a river would flow over the mountain tops; just as the nature's ceaseless forces endlessly supply water to create the river that flows over the mountain tops, so did the objects settled on the top securing the table cloth form slipping away into a senseless disordered heap.
But, now I am out in the street, perturbed, flinching heavily, sun shoving me back into the darkness that was so pure and manifested, I could not have come out into the open, if not for the thread pulling me along. Now she is gone, only the thread remained, twisted but secured, I followed, while the street's vapidity pushed past me, irresolute, inconsiderate to my sole inquiries. the majestic buildings that stood as if to support the sky above them offered some help by pushing in shade here and there, I strategically advanced slowly through the shade, still focusing on the thread that seemed to fade away, perhaps it's the distance, I must be so far away from the object of beauty that the thread is not supportive, so I reluctantly walked through the dusty outdoors through the harsh sun that held me up naked for all the indifferent eyes on the street, I got closer, then I saw her.
She tied her hair back into a pony and now the pony brushed her nape fully with every step she took, flowing over it securing it from the sun, from the resonant street possessions. a tall young man, handsome both in personality and bequests, stopped her to inquire about the street perhaps, she turned to point into a distant street that I was presently standing in, as she pointed, she assumed a posture of irresistible artistic integrity; an artistic delight that transcended every known pursuit of art. Her radiance spread out rippling all around into a force of admission. I hastened to apprehend the enormity of radiance, her nape now totally uncovered in this posture was exuding beauty profusely, while the pony hopelessly dangled up there, trying desperately to cover the profusion, nothing mattered now, I paused and pursued, smothered and soothed by the fragrance, and at once it occurred to me, the busy street had a romance of its own, the speeding vehicles, the sun and shade, the tall buildings, the handsome man brushing his hair as he walked past me. The resonating and ceaseless beauty from her nape ricocheted so hard that I apprehended the resonance through the whole of my body and closed myself inside out. The beauty suffused through my nerves filling them with energy, with all the channels closed to outdoors, energy multiplied itself exponentially, and finally pushed me away from myself; goose bumps manifested promptly.
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