Slipping Lights

The sun was setting, drenching everything in a shade of orange that made it all feel suspended in time. We sat on the balcony, our mugs of tea cooling beside us, just quiet, watching the colors fade. It felt like one of those evenings where the silence is filled with more meaning than words could ever carry. I wanted to say something—to break that stillness—but there was nothing I could add to that moment. It was already complete.

I looked at her, the way her hair caught the last bits of sunlight, the faint lines of a smile on her face as she sipped her tea. I knew we didn’t need to talk; we were just there, present and together. But in my mind, thoughts kept circling, questions of when this easy happiness would end, how much longer I’d get to have her here like this, her laughter filling the gaps in my thoughts.

It’s funny, really, how we spend so much time wanting things to last forever, knowing they can’t. A part of me held onto this strange hope that maybe, somehow, we’d escape the rules, that life wouldn’t change, that our happiness would be exempt from the passing of time. But I could already feel it slipping through my fingers like sand, something I couldn't hold onto even though I wanted to.

I remember asking her once, out of nowhere, "Do you think good things always have to end?"

She looked at me, a little surprised, and just smiled softly. "Maybe they do. But that's what makes them good, doesn't it? If things lasted forever, they’d stop being special."

Her answer had made sense then, but sitting there that evening, it hurt. It was like watching a beautiful sunset, knowing that darkness was inevitable. I wanted to bottle that moment, to store it somewhere safe so I could take it out on the days when I knew I’d miss it most.

As the colors in the sky faded, I reached over, took her hand in mine, and just held it. She looked down, her fingers curling around mine, and for a moment, I felt as if maybe we could stay here forever, trapped in this fleeting second where nothing else mattered. But reality would come soon enough, and this would become just another memory, a fragment of time that I’d look back on with a painful sort of longing.

I realized then that maybe the ache I felt, knowing that this would all end, was just part of loving something so much you never wanted to lose it. It’s the bittersweet side of happiness, the knowledge that everything beautiful is also fragile. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe good times are meant to end because we’re meant to savor them, to hold them close and let them change us, even if only for a while.

As the last light faded and we sat together in the dark, I squeezed her hand a little tighter, holding onto that moment as long as I could. Because in the end, maybe that’s all we have—the moments we hold close, even as we know they’re slipping away.