Daffodils in the Wind

 I would love to go back to those Nugegoda nights with long walks under yellow street lights and a domed sky scattered with humongous Mara branches spreading out until they've turned into a thousand minuscule fingertips, reaching out as far as it takes to be next to the fingertips of their lovers. They never touch, they never cross over, they never clash, but just close enough to feel the other's warmth. Just close enough to stroke the skin as the wind pushes them too far. That shy little space is what keeps them safe, keeps them harmonious, and tests their patience. 

Those were the budding days of sheer creativity and curiosity. What a combination! What a rhythm that pulsing life had!

I miss all of you who were there, pulsing on your own rhythm and pulsing with me; reaching out but not clashing. You made the best memories, best.

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