Night Magic

There are moments as beautiful and fragile as dew on a spider’s web.

This moment is precious because I never expected it to happen.  It’s fleeting but captivating night magic.  I silently curse dawn.

I have no need of baubles or tokens when I see you look at her with such warmth.  This—this is enough.

My heart swells; I’m almost moved to tears.  I will myself not to cry.  Instead, I close my eyes to let my other senses drink the moment—sounds, textures, smells.  I open my eyes and watch you two interact.

Such moments make my heart weightless and make me glad for the air in my lungs.

If time just stopped right now I wouldn’t fight it.

I want to clasp you both in my hands, to tell you how I feel about you both and about this moment, but I refrain. 

Instead, I listen and join the laughter—some of it at my expense.

I enjoy the night magic and refuse to look for the pull string behind the curtains.

Tonight’s illusion feels real to me, and that’s enough.