Underneath the Luminous Night | farsight

Vincent W. C.
The Afterglow Publication
2 min readFeb 24, 2024

But where are you ? — I ought to be with you.

Photo by Anthony Adu on Unsplash

Night trees blossom through the wind. Rousing a storm of petals, the East wind leaps from the branches and gallops toward the vault of heaven. Look up. Hooves rustling the stars, those little pinpricks of light, which fall down to earth in a shower of nascent light.

Coachman, hold the horses! I say.

The times do not wait for idlers. Tearing through my skin, incense and the fragrance submerge me. I am drowned in a revel. Glimmering coaches; muscled stallions rippling down the alleyway and into the sea of lanternlight. Their dark hides bejewelled with shimmering gold, dancing as loose flames across a shroud. And I brace against their incandescent faces — the dancing-girls and the musicals. This place is one blaze, one broad illumination; the whole world seems abroad; moonlight and heaven are banished: the street, by her own flambeaux, beholds her own splendour — those dresses, those fine horses and gallant riders throng the bright streets. I see even scores of masks. It is a strange scene, stranger than dreams. But where are you ? — I ought to be with you. In the midst of this glare you must be shadowy and calm — there, at least, are neither torches, lamps, nor crowd?

So I push past the myriad faces. And your figure emerges like a cathedral. Your back arched, shoulders and neck exposed like ivory. I tap. You turn. And you are not there. Those golden brows. Those golden threads. So I am drawn in like a moth. The light of unending carousel spews forward and cocoons me and I gasp and she breaks away. Her eyes are pitch dark. Where are your eyes? And that woman is gone. But you are nowhere to be found.

So I will sieve through the myriad of faces. Searching for your eyes. Till — bedazzled and bereft — I perchance might turn.

And catch your silhouette, in the place where the light flickers and fades.

众里寻他千百度。蓦然回首,那人却在,灯火阑珊处。

I have searched for him across a million glances. Till I suddenly turn, and that person was in the dimming light, all along.

Photo by Alex Gruber on Unsplash

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Vincent W. C.
The Afterglow Publication

high school student | lover of literary things | imagining sisyphus happy ._.