sunsetMetaphysics of Love and Aesthetics

On a balcony in California

One third of a circle

In the distance, a palm-sized naked man is resting his hands on a balcony’s marble railing, at the second floor of a mansion on the northern coast of California. His young body is lean but tired. His muscles are depleted and full of pleasure. His skin is in parts bright pink, like after an intense workout.

The mansion surrounding him is large with old off-white walls on which green vines decorated whit hundreds of snow white and bright red roses grow. The window frames, dark brown woods, reflect the crimson light of a lavender summer sunset at which the man stares. A gentle smile on his lips which he wets with a discrete tongue movement. From behind the man, a transparent curtain flies around him as a soft warming breeze caresses his skin.

Inside the room with the balcony, on a large bed with soft white beddings and big fluffy pillows, covered with a thin, red satin sheet, a young woman lays naked facing the ceiling that is far, far away. Silence. Nothing but the wind.

Her lips are red. Her eyelids covered two dark balls of chocolate, and her breathing is deep and rare as if her heart is waiting for something. She moves right index finger, just to feel the vibrations around her. The room is spacious, but mostly empty and with the exception of the twilight sunrays falling through the balcony, the rest is shrouded in charcoal velvet shadows.

Viewed from an angle, this entire place seems stuck somewhere in time and space. There is a strong feeling of perpetual sunset – tomorrow starts at noon and the day after tomorrow starts yesterday at noon. Today is just passed the afternoon.

The night, far into the horizon, is closing in but it is still too distant for darkness to kill the sun’s display of warm shades on the giant heavenly canvas.

two thirds of a circle

An ocean of colour washes over the man’s eyes, turning his brown irises slightly cherry. A licker of light. A glimpse of infinity. He is now contemplating the melting pastels as orchestrated by the slowly collapsing disc of fire.

He said yes to Paradise and yes to love, yes to freedom and yes to beauty, yes to stories and yes to mystery.

Behind him, the young woman smiles and gently opens her eyes, darker and deeper than the distance between stars, looking at the far above white ceiling that is lost in a pale grey shadow. She blinks softly. Her eyelashes salute the darkness for a moment, then the dim sunlight.

Slowly she gets herself halfway up. The red satin falls from her chest and her bare breasts with hard nipples remain uncovered. The young woman smiles, as if the universe is flirting with her. She tilts her head playfully to the right, bringing her long, wavy hair, the colour of roasted Peruvian coffee, over her milky shoulders.

She said yes to Paradise and yes to love, yes to freedom and yes to beauty, yes to stories and yes to mystery.

Gracefully, the woman gets up and covers her naked body with the satin sheet, as if she wrapped herself in a birthday present. Her lips are even redder and softer when contrasted with the satin which, in the twilight, looks closer to crimson.

She walks towards the balcony. Her feet step slowly on the pavement – a giant piece of white marble covered here in there with thick Persian rugs. Her right foot breaks into a beam of warm yellow sunshine that is coming inside the room. The sun kisses her toes. She smiles. She knows it is a goodbye kiss.

The moon is now a transparent grey disc above the falling sun that seems to have given up the fight, except for a few rebel waves of light which continue to keep half the sky a melancholic violet with golden strikes that blend into deep crimson cuts. The only sounds are the silent steps of the woman approaching the man on the balcony.

Below them, a big green garden of white flowers, Greek statues of men and women hugging each other and large fountains. A lonely tangerine tree full of round, orange fruits over which the twilight shadow already fell is witnessing the two together, in complete tranquility.

The wind slowly moves the leaves, tangling some tangerines. The breeze is a bit colder now, life is more distant too.

Three Thirds of a Circle

The woman arrives next to the man. He looks at her. She looks at him. Her name tastes like peaches. His name, a shimmering shade of ivory.

A soft but confident kiss on the lips. They smile. He puts his right arm around her waist, and she places her left arm across his left shoulder, covering the man with part of the satin sheet. His fingers are soft but not as soft as her skin.

They both look far into the horizon, at the line where today ends and tomorrow begins. Words are not needed because the unspeakable already speaks through everything else.

Down from where the tangerine tree is a metamorphosis. The full force of the now very dim sunset shines on them, through them, all the way on the bed behind them. Their skins are now bright white, and the sheet reflects some of the rays back – a king and a queen, naked in the face of the coming night. No escape, but they are smiling to each other. Their hearts are warm and at peace.

A tangerine touches another tangerine. Ginger dust from their peel drops on the leaves below. Translucid glitter. Some is lifted up in the air, spreading the sweet scent of the orange fruits, and some is dissolved into the earth. But there is no loss; there is no death.

The ginger dust simply flows into the eternity brought by a white swan that flew in one of the fountains. The bird gracefully landed on the water, placing its beak between its wings and welcoming the calm slumber of seasons.

Beyond the horizon, there is nothing, there is the world. Too distant to be heard, too distant to matter.

The remaining light of the sun, three rays in the shape of an ear of wheat, fights to warm the two on the balcony. The man and woman remain in the sunset.

The moon is brighter, bigger, colder. Legions of neon stars climb behind the wavering sun.

They kiss defiantly, with so much courage and passion that it is enough to bring back all the dead of human centuries, to end all wars and to begin the dance without end.

Their lips touch and two stars collide. Their tongues meet and a ballerina performs a pirouette. He touches her waist, softly pulling her towards him. She moves a step towards him and puts her hand on his face, caressing his left cheek. Her breasts touch his chest. The final ray of twilight shines on their kiss. Their final breath ends with the kiss.

He looks in her eyes. Energy. Masculinity. Life.

He said yes to Paradise and yes to love, yes to freedom and yes to beauty, yes to stories and yes to mystery.

She looks in his eyes. Energy. Femininity. Life.

She said yes to Paradise and yes to love, yes to freedom and yes to beauty, yes to stories and yes to mystery.

It was all just a minute. The final moment before everything began again.

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