The mystery of the summer nights with a stranger in my bed and the breeze coming right in from the left-ajar windoor was my new life. The nights were so light even though I had to drag myself around most times. Outside there was a lot of noise and people but it was inside where all the action was taking place.
I had recently been published and was living a very sophisticated, intellectual life for the period at hand; something which I had always wished for. My lovers were many; all listless to take a part of me and my soul. It wasn’t like the past when I used to be so willing myself to give; no, I had become an idol now that others would cherish and adore. This had become my new theme. You could say a new air of selfishness. And why wouldn’t I? I had earned this power even if unwillingly; and this power, once possessed, has to be used and applied. This was my current theory.
The village nights were calm and cozy for the most part and no lit windows could be seen after ten thirty. No lit windows that is, except for one near the northern fountain right by the park gate: my very windoor.
Yes, my stranger and I would stay up for as long as it was possible for us both just to live every single moment together, for each night could’ve been the last. We both had learnt to cherish the moment as well as the value of a companion who really knew of the nature of life. We would lie and talk of our past lovers. Oh how I miss each and every one of them! mostly I just missed those days and not so much the persons. I missed the moments once lived in another life.
The tales of the dark hours of the village nights were what we now had and they were sweet and delicate. What the mystery of the summer nights, the secret of the midnight breeze was, I did not know. But I didn’t wish otherwise; for what was now, was the best: a soothing breeze at hand.