The Evening Game

He could see her standing against the last light...as the sun went down...surrendering in its ochre tint. Slowly shifting his gaze to the porch above her where children were plotting nervously; he brought the last cigarette to his parched lips. He would need water, he thought, smoothening out the creases on his wilted cigarette; but then he’d hold on to watch the sun drop away today- a vivid April sunset behind wisps of dry smoke. Standing in his balcony, inhaling the smoke and silence that slowly enveloped his thoughts within her silhouette, he pondered vaguely over the likeliness of everyday. He looked at her, tracing the distance between them and wondered like every other day. Rarely did they move beyond the skewed familiarity of their allegorical presence. And then, all of a sudden she looked straight at him...moving two fingers to her lips and then waving in dismissal. She gesticulated, hinting at him perhaps, at his cigarette? Staring at her, playing a game of silence, he continued to smoke; still nonchalant like wisps from the final embers. And finally, when it was too dark to see and the sun had eclipsed them in his absence.....the game was over. He had missed another beautiful sunset, like every other day, he thought.