Towers

They were beautiful, inexplicably. Two white towers stood strikingly against the gray night sky, which was itself somehow diminished by the uplighting of city lights and the memories of snow still recent in the wind.

Their many pointed angles seemed purposeful and implied the curves of the natural world without sacrificing the immediacy of unbroken lines, like a geometric proof that’s self-evident. Those two towers, they proved each other.

Sometime later they would be encased in ice. They would not sag or falter, nor divorce from their foundations. No, they would endure, even if their occupants couldn’t.

From the balconies hung single strings of Christmas lights, and disparate windows were aglow in the same soothing yellow haze that adorned living rooms in the evening after the televisions had retired until the morning. But that was today. These towers are fine for today, but they were built for later.

If they outlast us completely, they shall be our tombstones, and they will say, “here lie those who could create us. How mighty they must have been.”

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