It all began that cold September morning when the breeze of the ocean was just right. Crispy and soft, like Nissin wafer sticks and the way they snap just between your fingers. It was sunset then and her skirt billowed against her frail scale.
I looked at her. No, gazed at her. She was magnificent against the tangerine bursts of the dying sky. Her hair was golden. And her face, Aaah, her face, Helen of Troy would’ve felt shame if she’d seen her-big brown eyes, aquiline nose, those soft pink lips and the easy-going smiles she beams like rays of cheerful sunshine.
And it was that image of her on that lazy boulevard that left etches of dreams on my dormant intuition. Suddenly, I can see. And with sight, I gained knowledge. And understanding. And I knew that I have fallen.