Anthesis of Sadness

I drank.

Then I ate.

Without rushing. Without trying to satisfy hunger.

Each sip, each bite, became a ritual. A full act, anchored in the present. There was no urgency. Not anymore. The world, for the first time in a long while, seemed suspended around me.

I let the wine flow slowly over my tongue, flooding my palate with a soft, complex warmth — almost carnal. It was an old wine, thoughtful, structured. It had memory. Depth. It opened silently, revealing its layers one by one, like a story told in the dark, by the embers of a forgotten fire.

I drank, cup after cup, and each pour held the weight of a fragment of peace.

Around me, the desert stretched like a sea of petrified gold. The dunes rippled in the gloom, caressed by the wind like by an ancient hand. There was nothing left to fear. Nothing left to prove.

The fire crackled gently at my side, like a soothed heart. And Lysara, a few steps away, packed up in silence, not disturbing the night’s balance. She said nothing. She gave me that moment. That rare luxury: the right to simply be there.

My eyes slowly drifted toward the horizon. That sky... that celestial dome, vast and still, pierced with thousands of stars, wrapped around me completely. A cloak of darkness embroidered with gold, laid on my shoulders like an invisible crown.

Some stars twinkled insistently, as if trying to tell me something. Others remained still, calm, eternal, indifferent. A divine dust suspended between void and memory.

And I... emptied the bottle. Calmly. Like finishing a beloved book, slowing down toward the end to stretch the moment.