'Lights always look better when you're standing in the dark, don't you think?' She asked me, her head sideways, as if to gain a different perspective.
That's how I see her in my mind, burnt onto the inside of my eyelids, so even in the dark, I see that image of her. Her sitting on a mis-matched jumble of all the jackets, cardigans and shirts we could find in the backseat of my car. Her mousy brown hair had a curl in it from wearing it up all day, she'd taken it out so the length could shield her neck from the brisk evening. Her arms, still white though it was mid-summer, were wrapped loosely about her knees. Her floral dress was crinkled. In the bright of the even stars you could just see the freckles on her little snub nose. She had un uneven mouth, a little too large for her face, and eyes that could overwhelm the sea. She had a terrible habit of unconsciously biting her top lip so her lower teeth would flash white against her dark lips, and she would cock her head to the side as she questioned you, eyes searching each minute expression on your face for something unspoken.
She always had this way with words. She would make me agree to something before I had even realised the depth of what had been said. She would look at me and somehow I felt like she knew what I was thinking. Like in her experience of accumulating the hearts of men she had become hyper-sensitive to each momentary tick and thought-process.
I never told her that, it wasn't something that I'd admit, that someone could see more ito the depths of me than my usual guards would allow. It intimidated me. The way she knew things scared me.
I think, in a way, she was more observant than she'd ever let on. When she appeared to be off in another world, I think part of her was still around, listening and watching, peering into each soul, searching for truth.
We were sitting on what most people would call a cliff, the slightly damp grass trying its best to seep through the layers of jackets we had spread between us and it. The ocean sang out from below, the sky overwhelmed us with its blanketing presence. I played guitar softly, unconsciously moving and flowing with the flow of conversation, shifting subtly from melancholy to staccato, uplifting to desperately, agonisingly sorrowful.
The stars were so bright that night. I was sure that we didn't need the three tealight candles she found in her bag, but we lit them anyway.
'They're mostly to set the mood, really.' She reasoned to herself.
'What sort of mood do you need to set that isn't already here?' I wondered.
She stayed silent, shrugging off the implied condemnation of my naturalist tendancies.
'Why did you have those candles in there, anyway?' I asked.
'I don't know. I think I just collect things that I feel attached to at the moment. I guess I just carry them around with me to make me feel more secure... Or maybe I'm just a terrible hoarder, afraid and unable to let go of anything' she joked, trying to cover the small amount of accidental truth with layers of self-deprecating jest.
I wondered how many more souls she would need to take before she could breathe freely.
I felt thin around her. Stretched. Like butter scraped over too much bread. I think to her I was so much, and in myself, became so little.
I lay facing the stars, and they facing me. My eyes were irresistably attracted to the brightest of them. Where was the moon? I wondered. The shallows of my mind stifled the thoughts that would one day break us apart. I resisted them with all of my being. Just for tonight, I reasoned. I'll deal with them in daylight.
But somewhere inside, a small voice wondered if I only looked so good to her because she was so lost in her own night.
And we dreamt through the Saturns of an unkempt night. She, content to be so close. And me, I wasn't so sure anymore. The guitar kept playing its own eternal song, unheeding to any thoughts of mine.
And soon enough, silence overtook our thoughts and words as we lay there, serenaded by nothing but eternity.
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