I want to fall for you gently, softly – like dew over spiderweb on an early spring at dawn.
I want to fall quietly, so as not to scare Nature from her silver slumber. Those little insects sleeping on the nearby blades of grass might awaken – I don’t want to share my place in your arms if they stray into this delicate trap.
I want to fall quickly, before the first rays of sunlight stroke my cheeks with its scorching fingers and banish me forever.
Lull me in your silky cradle, keep me warm while you can. Bees and flies might never again take flight from your sneaky nest. But seconds are ticking, darling, daytime is coming – and I will soon be on my way.
I wrote this short peace of lyrical prose late last night, inspired by a photo I took during my recent trip to Moc Chau. I stared at dew on that spiderweb for a long time and thought of how firm and strong the spider web is, it holds these little drops of dew without letting them fall through. And yet it is so silky and smooth, so gentle. The spider web doesn’t hold dew in a firm grip; rather, it is just there for it, like an open palm filled with sand.
The image of dew resting safely in this embrace seemed so peaceful and yet so fragile – like two traveling lovers on a lazy morning, just a few moments before they both have to wake up to catch their next separate trains, or planes, or buses to a new exotic destination. Just before their paths part, probably never to meet again.
As a solo female traveler, I get asked about love and romance on the road often. And of course, there is romance, there is sometimes even love. I’ve heard and read countless stories about people who met on the road, fell in love madly, and kept traveling together.
However, this is not how my stories usually go. Or at least, not so far. I always seem to be very aware of the expiration date of those romantic bonds made on the road, and this tangible, visible finish line often seems to be lurking from somewhere in the back of my mind.
But I do indulge in those connections. I don’t try to avoid them out of fear of getting hurt or failing. Because in the end, even getting hurt always turns out to be worth it. People always bring out something new from within me. Or maybe even something old, something ancient, that has been lying dormant somewhere inside.
I believe in great romances, and maybe someday, when I am ready, mine will find me as well. But until that time, I am keeping an open mind to welcome every connection that comes my way, even if just a temporary one.
The knowledge that all things change brings along a certain kind of melancholic beauty. And the shorter the time, the greater and more powerful that knowledge is. Being painfully aware of time that passes somehow makes us appreciate the bonds even more. It forces us to live in the moment more than anything else – and living in the moment is what makes us feel truly alive.