Perhaps each day a woman falls under the spell of a man’s words and glances. She abandons herself to this onrush of love, clutching at her happiness as a child opens her arms to embrace the simplistic beauty of soul to whom the greater world is largely unknown.
Maybe even as the brightest hours in these fleeting days are overcast by the sadness of their imminent separation, the surrounding gloom only serves to make the love sweeter. She had thought this kind of love impossible in the past and had believed it only existed fictitiously, to be read about in novels and poems. Holding hands, the couple disintegrates into the play of reflected light on the water opening out before them until all that remains is a mauve shadow of their shared memory that, bit by bit, begins to dissolve.