Today, forever...

The dry yellow grass swayed gently to the moist winds passing by. Golden ripples spread beneath a naked azure sky. So starkly naked that the proud sequoias had to look down out of modesty. Walking through the field he felt like a stone flung in the middle of a river. Skipping and skidding on a sheet of solid water, till reality engulfed it into her liquid arms.

He tried to refrain from the `Why me's' The question mocked him, and his promise of not crying anymore.

`How can I be confined amidst such beauty. How can I be so poor in my dreams.' He said these out loud to the winding dirt road. Perhaps down the way it may meet the answers. Yet, they were not questions. The questions, he could not ask.

`Where is she now?' Now this; was worth a thought. Some kind of thought, at least. He knew where she was.

***

The world makes sense today. Almost. More so than yesterday. Perhaps it is because I am wearing orange. I will tell him when I meet him. Today is a better today than the last today.

***

The white building seemed antiseptic, sitting in solitary pride, surrounded by the vast meadow of green. Three hours away from civilization. `Why do I have to walk here every time? If only I had listened to her and earned enough for a car.'

He stopped at the huge black iron gate. The speakerphone on the wall buzzed and the iron behemoth slid open.

`Listen to her? I am going to try harder today.'

***

`You know, you know, today was better yesterday. Because I was wearing orange. I am wearing orange today too. We always wear orange here. Is it the fifteenth? I am getting married on the fifteenth! I have to wear white then. Do whites make better todays than oranges?'

He turned his face away and uttered an unsure, `yes.'

***

He took the usual diversion on his way back. On the sun kissed eastern slope, where the heavenly lake met the earth down below, stood the stoically mute cathedral. It had no reason to be otherwise. The massive grey stones hewn to make an ornament for prayer may have afforded others a more vocal welcome. But to him it was a bloody battleground of memories. Battlegrounds never welcome warriors. They weep for them.

If only such gallantry begot death, he would have stayed. `But I cannot stay. I have to go and prepare for today to come again. Tomorrow.'