a solitary art

The glow of the lamp circled onto the page, crisp and empty, waiting to be filled. It was a warm glow while the brisk breeze brushed gently across her back. The spirals and coils at the base of the lamp drew the eye upward past mosaic creme marble, wrought-iron curls, and a majestic lampshade housing the precious bulb out of which bloomed the most cozy light.

She grasped the mug between her hands, let the heat seep past the ceramic and onto her fingers, pressed her lips to the rim, and smelled the steam rising softly from its den. She tasted the bitter bean as it sailed down her throat, and savored the sugary raspberry which mingled against french roast. A bitter blend of promise for the long night ahead.

Nearby, two bodies strenuously reviewed their notes. Separately but united in one cause. Furthering their knowledge. Seeing them here, against the glow of light, surrounded by books and pages of wisdom, inspired her to delve into Faustus. To taste the words and make them as real as the coffee she held in her hands, as real as the glowing atmosphere in which she found herself tonight.

It's moments like these, she thought, when the world is simply lovely. Full of beauty. Darkness marked by lampposts and lampshades and tiny windows across the quad, brimming with light. Somewhere, someone else cares as much as she does. Somewhere, someone's light is brighly shining, or dimly, warmly, gently shining. She prefers the gentle for now, and sipping a tiny drop, returns to the pages.