Hi there! Please enjoy this little piece of prose I wrote this evening. It seems to suddenly have got very cold, and I took the new wintry feel to the air as part of the inspiration for this piece. Please feel free to give me feedback on this, even (especially!) if it’s negative, as I am always looking to improve my writing. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!
Gold stands out over the horizon, a glitter of tiny sprites dusting the darkness, fizzling out against the backdrop of the stars. Brighter than the street lamps and the cars, higher than the high-rises and the tower blocks, the colours explode and hang still, for a moment stretched out between the beating of two hearts.
The echo of their softly dramatic combustion hides in a breath, warm against the cold air that drifts in through the partly open window, the edge of the curtains lifting up to expose the moonlight, and the fireworks. They are the background to two lives intertwined for a moment on the fifteenth floor of just another block of flats in a city that doesn’t care, yet doesn’t know that tonight, it will only be ignored.
Time is inconstant and unreal, and marked only by the drum beats of the explosions in the sky; gold dusts the night tonight, and the stars are out. Yet their beauty is nothing more than the markers of the reality of a moment to be remembered in flecks of colour and whispers in the dark.
The light and the dark are intertwined throughout the city, at the edges of the pools of light beneath the street lamps, in the glinting of the stars between the soft cotton of the clouds, between the glitter of the sparks. Heat steams in the chilled air, seeping in through windows and the cracks of doors, fought off by blankets and bed sheets and circles of arms. Winter mixes with the last dregs of summer’s ideals, and the night is a potion stirred with beauty and contradictions, a love draft infused with fireworks.
A Teacup Full of Stories 