Fireworks sprung into the dark mocha sky, exploding in a grand, fantastic nature. Everything glowed, from the bustle of the city to the crevices of the mountains to the east. Blue, orange, yellow – colors of every imagination flew into life, and extended joy from one viewer to the next.
But these fireworks were not real.
She stood, gazing up at them, in wonder and in awe. They were not real. But they were magnificent.
The fireworks were what she felt, and what she felt she saw.
The people around her, the joy they gave her, the companionship they showed her, and the love they unlocked from within her. Her heart grew and grew, and she never wanted it to stop.
It was all like fireworks. What she felt she saw.
And she felt on the brink of explosion. A heart so large, so filled with the places and people she discovered, learned, and loved, felt so full that it might be impossible to love anymore than this.
But she knew it was possible. This is what these people showed her. The confidence in loving the world, and the boundless limits to the action and reception of love itself.
Colors and cultures, shapes and characters. The fireworks exploded in reminiscence of past love, and in celebration of present.
Light shone far past her scope of view, illuminating the unlit areas of the city outskirts and the moonlit mountains, a testimony to the love, the life, and the warmth that would envelop the future.
“These people I love,” she thought.
“These places I adore.”
“And this world I have fallen for.”
Written in Kyoto, Japan