I feel like I have to describe this night somehow, because I'm sure if I don't, one day I'll forget some of the details. I think it's already started though, so forgive me if I take some poetic license and fill in some of the blanks with my imagination.
I was wearing this light blue-ish, pink-ish sort of beachy Roxy halter that I had bought for way too much money the same day because I didn't have anything to wear to go clubbing. It was long past midnight and I was sipping Champagne on a huge marble balcony overlooking the Mediterranean.
Okay. Pause. I have to tell you about this house. It was owned by a retired French businessman, it was three-stories, all in white marble, and immaculately decorated. I have never seen a house (I mean, someone's actual residence) that beautiful, before or since. Pieces of extremely valuable art hung on the walls and littered the shelves. Pristine collectibles from all over the world were on display as if they were family photos taken last summer at the Grand Canyon. Four bedrooms, each with it's own study, bathroom and large balcony; it was more like a hotel than a house, really.
Anyways. Unpause. I'll fast-forward through a couple of scenes from there. Not that they're not interesting, only that they're unimportant. So, at the point where the ambiguity of whether it's the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning is at its highest, I come back out of the bedroom. (For the record, NOTHING serious took place in there between me and someone else) I am completely naked and wrapped in a white top sheet I had taken off the bed. I'm standing on the balcony, overlooking the sea, sipping now stale champagne, and watching the moon's glitter on the water. It was like I had been cast as Lucy Honeychurch in a modern day, Spanish version of Room With A View. At least, that's what I felt like.
It's hard the describe the actual amount of beauty and peace I felt with myself and with the world at that moment. I realized then and there that God must exist, because a world made out of chaos and completely coincidental events just isn't possible. Although my idea of God at this point highly differed from that of any religion I had been introduced to. I started to believe in a God that recognized the beauty of precise moments, of nudity, of stale champagne, of the reflection of a full moon on the water. That perfection was not finding that one man to spend a summer with, and that leaving him was not that big of a deal. Perfection is standing on that balcony, and simply knowing that your soulmate, and your ultimate happiness is out there marveling at the same moon somewhere.
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