mid-autumn festival.
There are not enough lights on the street tonight. I have this overwhelming urge to climb onto the streetlamps and string up hundreds upon hundreds of lighted paper lanterns in the darkness. It will look as if the sun had collapsed in on the night and the glowing fragments of its embers were floating silently down into the quiet streets.
People will stop in the streets and stand where they are - wondering at the fire in the city; staring at the lights separating into constellations, hanging like starlight in the air, like the clarity of unspoken words etched against the sky. For one infinite moment they will feel as if mistakes can be forgiven and aching throats will mend. They will feel as if following the string of lights far enough will guide them home.
People will stop in the streets and stand where they are - wondering at the fire in the city; staring at the lights separating into constellations, hanging like starlight in the air, like the clarity of unspoken words etched against the sky. For one infinite moment they will feel as if mistakes can be forgiven and aching throats will mend. They will feel as if following the string of lights far enough will guide them home.