When the sun goes down

Ever took a mental picture in a bid to preserve a beautiful moment that cannot be captured on film (digital or otherwise)?

One such frame popped into my mind unbidden. It was November. I was sitting on a wooden case covered in newspapers, in an apartment that was in the midst of renovations (half-finished walls, construction materials all around me, electric wires, smell of paint, dust flying about) in Paris. It was cold in there (no heating), I had my leather jacket on, wrapped as tightly as I could around me in an attempt to stay warm. I was absorbed in my book, Cold Mountain.

I want to know if he would find the girl he came back for. I had never watched the movie.

Colleague of dear friend asked about the progress of the protaganist. I gave a short synopsis, eager to get back to my book.

Dear friend came round from his work to give me a hug. ^_^

The room turned a warm, orangey hue. I looked up from my book to see that from the window to my left, the sun was casting its rays into the room. It felt as if the image was burning into my retina as I stared at it. I turned my attention back to my book but would look out the window now and then. The sun was inching its way down the horizon. I would feel like I've only turned away for a second and the next, the radiant face's that much gone. The disappearing golden orb conferred an awareness of time slipping away from me much more than the ticking second-hand of a clock.

Perhaps it was due to my dwindling days in Paris. There was something about this particular sunset that I won't forget.

He found her. I finished up my book as the sky turned pink outside. Bittersweet.