La Colombe in the Day

A cold, but sunny day. The curious sunlight peaked through the pure white linens into a room that had only felt passionate storms for three days and nights. The warm, cozy room had provided shelter and comfort while Mother Nature was busy shedding her tears. The eclipsed sun seduced its admirer with an irresistible smile, and the girl found herself rising from her bed to meet him at the ledge of the window.

“Come out young girl and see where this clear day can take you.”

The harsh reality of the winter day slapped her face as she stepped into the exposed air. Her fingers turned numb and her face became rosy flush. She smiled back at the ignorant breeze and glided through the cobblestone streets looking for a robust cup of coffee to match her cheery demeanor.

La Colombe – the Dove – perched on a peaceful corner on the outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the labored town square. The coffee shop held a famed existence in town. It served as a watering hole for tired birds who flocked from all walks of life looking to fuel their storied existence.

The girl stepped through the doorway and was embraced by the perfume of roasted espresso beans. A long, solid oak bench supported a series of small oval table tops and stumpy chairs. The bench, fixated to the wall and supporting beams, reminded its patrons that the secrets hidden in each private nest were inseparable from that which held up the rest of humanity. In the innocence of daybreak, the space was empty as most of the city’s workers were either snuggled in their homely routines or busy out and about making an earnest living.

The smile of the sun had charmed the girl to depart from her norm and live on the edge – “a Macchiato – double please”. A creamy, deep brown elixir was poured into a miniature cardboard cup and set on the counter. The girl wrapped her frozen fingers around the tiny radius of the cup and revived sensation through whatever slight heat she could absorb. Her needy fingers felt jealous as the cup was raised to her lips and her body eagerly shot back the ale.

Like a rocket ship, the bittersweet liquid jolted her heart, mind, and soul into outer space.

Let’s switch places, young girl. You be my sun, and I’ll be your moon. We can be in imperfect harmony dancing around this magical Earth. Every two weeks, like clockwork, our paths will align – as Mother Nature sees fit – you will be my most precious shining sun and  I – as the waning moon – will be full again.”

My sweet thing – You – were born with two left feet, and I was born hot and near-sighted. The passionate rhythm beating through our hearts can guide us when celestial mechanics are not in our favor. However, the reality of our creation cannot be avoided. When the blue moon rises again two weeks later, like clockwork, our fated tilt will force you to block me from the rest of humanity. Some days I think that I’d prefer if Mother Nature choose to cry – so then the world did not know what beauty was hidden behind the closed doors of the human eye – but I quickly realize my logic is crooked and tainted with blasphemy – the voice of all the lonely stars in the universe who feel wronged by what they do not understand, and the chemistry they cannot experience within their own souls.”

sun

Til’ death do us part, and the stars choose to bloom in another more perfect universe.

The girl awoke in panic to soaked white linens upon her bed. She peeked at her bedside clock – 8:05 a.m. She felt immediate relief as her crucial hour and examination was not until mid-morning. Although her mind felt frazzled by her dream, she couldn’t help but notice that her body held an extra dose of euphoric, almost cosmic energy to conquer the day…

 

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