Efflorescence in the night.

I stood for a moment and stared at the desire the men and women shared, rejoicing in familiar conversation, strolling effortlessly on the moonlit bridge. Small, incandescent lights spread across the city as they walked into the abysmal night, beginning new explorations for some unmarred souls. I am suddenly reminded of a photograph I have hanging on the wall in my living room. It is a black and white photograph of Marilyn Monroe that gave voice to an old Hollywood glamour that I find admirable. In the photograph, she is wearing a white dress made of tulle. She is barefoot. She is sitting in a chair in what looks like an empty room. She resembles someone who is withdrawn, yet that black and white photograph of her is perfect. There has not been another photograph that has spoken to me with so much warmth. I felt myself, as I stood alone on the emptied beach, overcome by an unbearable strength of intimidation that seemed to have risen from the aroma of life that was efflorescent on that night.