Magic & Memories

It was your Cheshire grin welcoming me to a place that felt like coming home.

Darkness glittering in a world of ash, you stood—all sharp lines and smooth words like black velvet. Light followed you in spectrums, soft focused and clinging to the crisp edges of a raven coat, dappled and dancing on hints of cherry reds and silver clasps. A beauty so divine and handsomely unreal, it was hard to believe my mind hadn’t been swept away in a dream. But you were very real. It was proven by the way the brightest things fluttered irresistibly to you, around you, drinking from the richness of your essence.

That soul of yours, familiarly steeped in nightfall and curiosities, has its way of beckoning even the most timid hearts to follow. They would be foolish not to. Wild, wolven eyes promise adventure, poised hands gloved in ink and deep crimson conceal magic beneath. Cool, confident speech resounds like rippling reflections of moonlight resting on a quiet river.

These are my memories of you, more grand than anything my imagination could conjure from a distance.

It was your ashen light guiding me in a world that felt like walking through the stars.

Your world, your home, a fantasy of waltzing flame and calliope spells. Rustic alleyways crawling with curled vines on fractured walls, humble shops emitting friendly warmth, twinkling in orange and yellow lights. The scent of hot pastries and sweet wine stalked our every step until we emerged from the fragrant haze and ginger glow into a labyrinth of patchwork tents, jovial laughter, and festival charm.

I was enchanted, but you were determined.

You were no stranger to this magic. You lived it every day. Still, you were patient, courteous, sharing in my excitement for the wonders whirling around us, a living painting dripping in odd captivation and lavish performance. I learned, in that moment, that happiness for you was the rapture of others. Despite the outward display, mismatched tears of ruby and black flawlessly melting down pale cheeks, daring to curl beneath each fetching curve and angle, I saw the flicker of fancy in your eyes and the clever delight in your smile.

Gracefully, and with a vibrant passion, you cut a path through the crowd with your presence alone. Everyone knew your face, your name, your repute in this realm of all things mysterious and strange. I was too engrossed in the celebration, too spellbound by golden dancers swathed in garlands of silks and coins, awed by the fire breathers engulfed in flame and glistening with sweat on tattooed skin, stunned and mystified by tumbling acts and contortionist’s rings. At first, I didn’t notice you’d stopped. You were also spellbound, but not by the same flamboyant spectacles igniting my amazement.

A sole juggler standing beneath a canopy of faerie lights tossed, caught, and melodically launched a series of peculiar glass spheres into the air. They appeared to be illuminated from the inside, speckled light peeking through mosaic exteriors of dark amethyst and navy blue. The juggler himself was a vision, contrasting his colorful act with a tailcoat of the deepest black lined in gold embroidery, disheveled rings of ivory lace spilling from gilded cuffs and barely brushing the base of his slender fingers. Storm grey pants pinstriped with charcoal were neatly tucked into a pair of black leather riding boots. A young, androgynous face painted porcelain white, cheeks blushed in the shape of hearts on a playing card, and eyes of shamrock green were half-veiled by a wild wave of burgundy hair topped in a crooked, black satin trilby.

You moved towards him in elegant strides, darkly aglow with confidence and twilight, a grim parade of devil’s tricks and the innocence of child’s laughter. Spring eyes met creeping hazel, and each sphere cascaded from the juggler’s hands, crashing at his feet in a brilliant nebula of broken glass and concentration. He bowed deep, both as a performer and a courtier greeting his king. I watched from the crowd, like a patron in the audience of a theater. The glass crunched beneath your boots, faces less than an inch apart. You, a King of Hearts, shuffling into the lights and claiming your dark prince with a kiss.

It was the kind of kiss you read about in fairy tales. A kiss of love and legend. A kiss to die for. When you broke away, you looked back at me and smiled.

It was your Cheshire grin welcoming me to a place that felt like coming home. It was your ashen light guiding me in a world that felt like walking through the stars. I was a bright thing fluttering irresistibly to you, drinking from the richness of your essence.

These are my memories of you—a night of magic, light, and coming home.