An unfinished melody

A car moves surreptitiously in hilly terrain.

He,

with somebody he thinks he loves right beside him,

sits with his legs folded,

gazes out of the car window and

breathes in the nightly sights of the approaching city.

The city,

somewhere far above from where he is right now,

shimmers majestically in the dark hills,

like constellations sometime do on a starry night,

like tiny diamond glass pieces on a woman's black sari,

like the personification of beauty in an old old dream.

He sits there,

listening to the river gushing in the valley below,

and remembers, 

a similar sight he had seen years ago,

with somebody.

She, 

of fewer words,

and of hummed songs

with words that would inevitably get caught up

in the curl of her lips,

had told him as he had gazed out then-

"I wish I could stand here and count the lighted windows of this city".

And he had looked at her then and smiled.