Some people look most beautiful in sunlight because their low-contrast features are exposed.
Some people look most beautiful in moonlight because their high-contrast features become striking.
On the rooftops of Moroccan dusk, the sunset’s yellows, pinks, and purples are in recent memory. It’s still light out and the moon drifts in the afterglow. The city isn’t asleep yet, but it’s not exactly alive. It’s in a transitionary state of rest and recovery before night festivities, like the moments of buoyant falling when starting a nap.
I first catch her gaze on the floating dusk-scape rooftops.
Her eyes sweep across the horizon until they lock onto mine. The sudden intensity steals my breath. Suffocating, I can’t look away. I see two eclipses: black disks covering brilliant white. Not piercing, not all-knowing. It’s an accepting gaze, present and non-judgemental. Watching for a soul-bearing answer to an innocent, logical question. Finally, the surveying beam points away so I can recover.
One breath. Two to recover. The return of the lighthouse gaze is as inevitable as its departure. I inhale as if preparing for a closeout wave to take me. I spot a momentary peripheral gleam, then brilliance. Her illuminating eyes flood my attention again.
“Hello.”