Something in the Night Air

I had it. I had it—just a moment ago. Perfectly sharp, perfectly formed, perfect in all respects—except that it’s gone now. But it was so beautiful and clear. You would have loved it. It was like a forgotten melody, floating by to caress my ears—but it went so much farther than sound. It was this point, of unfathomable brightness, of uncensored illumination, but it wasn’t light either—no, nor an aroma. It was, it was—I can’t even describe it anymore, but it was there, and it touched something inside me. It was there, and I held it, and I felt the warmth and the clarity, and it was simple and lucid and—but it’s lost now. There’s no hope anymore. It’s like chasing after a feather or a puff of dust. The harder you grasp, the more it eludes you. How I’d love for it to come back, to come back and leave me with more than just a tingle of pleasure and a pang of regret. How I’d love to share with you a fragment of bliss.

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