Earlier this afternoon, I glanced out my window and looked at the clouds. I stared for a while, just slightly longer than I normally would have, because the clouds today looked different. The puffiness of one cloud next to the slight swirls of another, all in different shades of gray against the permeating blue of the sky, was particularly enchanting. Before my eyes returned to my computer screen, I had the fleeting thought that the way those clouds looked meant that tonight’s sunset would be beautiful. I looked away from the window, and the thought disappeared.
I would remember it again in the evening when I looked outside my window for the second time. Those same puffs were lit a bright orange by the setting sun, made all the more vibrant by the pinkish swirls under it. I went downstairs, put on my flip-flops, and stepped outside to admire the glowing rays of sunlight.
As I stepped outside, I remembered that I knew this would happen—something about the way those clouds looked would be perfect for sunlight to fall upon; the shadows that gave the clouds varying textures would only highlight the glow of fading sunshine.
It is here that I am reminded of love. That I could look at a person and not have it be love at first sight, but get the feeling that soon our short exchanges and casual banter will blossom into something far more beautiful; the feeling that I may not love them yet, but I will; the feeling that their eyes may start as bright to me as the mid-afternoon sky, but will soon glow with the radiance of a brilliant sunset.
That is a feeling I treasure; the anticipation of a romance that I have no clue is growing until I step back and take a second to look at it. And yet, as soon as I do, it feels like it has been there all along; I remember that I felt the love approaching and I run and dance and spin around to take it all in.
But sunsets are quick. They don’t stay nearly as long as the bright blue sky or the puffy white clouds. The red, pink, orange sky soon fades into a deep purple and muted blue, and the clouds begin to lose their color. Just so, I know the romance that I knew would come will also run its course. Like a sunset, it feels like it glows forever when you’re there, until you look behind you and see that the color has disappeared. And it leaves you, standing there, wishing you could experience it for five more minutes.
Before I step back through my door, I look back at the sky. The sky has darkened further, and the clouds—their texture, puffs and swirls—are no longer visible. All that remains is the faint orange glow of the streetlight.