Magic of Dusk

A lighter clicks. It was only then that I realised the day was turning to dusk. In the quickly dimming light, we were all seated in a comfortable circle. Smoke, white against the darkening light, escaped lips casually, ghosts rising through the air. Conversations carried through the evening, and I could not help smiling out of happiness. It was the kind of happiness that radiated from my heart outwards, lifting my self in its freeing bliss. Everything was so foreign, yet vaguely familiar and comfortable. A strange but fine balance of old and new, and there was a sort of longing inside, as if my swelling heart reawakened at this great fervour it almost forgot existed.