Feb. 14, 2003 - 12:52 a.m.
Imagine a dark, dry place. Cool wind rushes past you as you enter the room. Your bare toes sink into the deep carpet. There is music playing softly in the background, a perfect counterpoint to the quiet buzzing of voices. An atmosphere of intimacy hangs like a cloud throughout the room. The hum of voices is occassionally punctuated by lilting laughter or the tinkle of glass coming in contact with marble as some attractive stranger sets down her drink.
Everywhere you look, there is black and the color of exposed flesh. The only splash of contrast is a vision in silver. Her long dress hugs every curve and spills over the dark carpet. You can only catch glimpses of her as the crowd parts, their movements almost like a dance. She is made of shadows and light. Her raven hair fades into the background and frames skin, so milky white it glows. The dress reflects the candlelight, drawing every eye towards her at one time or another.
She is so beautiful and magical it takes your breath away.
And then you feel a tug on your leash and realize that only twenty feet of eternity separates you.
