A streak of crimson ran through the sky. It was long past dusk. The night was setting in. Blue was slowly turning to black. There were no stars and the moon was hidden.
All I could hear was the wind and her voice. The wind wrapped itself around her words as they came to me. I listened and watched. I was frozen in the moment. Life buzzed by in the background. Blurred and distant. It was only us.
And suddenly, in the background of the crimson, a lone leaf lost its connection with the tree, and floated down. Down towards us and then past us. Away on its own path. Like our own path. Like the path that we had created for ourselves. Like the path we were on.