The yellowish white of the moon, now fully risen, spilled its light over a sea sculpted by the wind. The floodlights of a stadium lit up even the neighboring houses and beaches. Cargo ships in the middle of the bay waited to berth at the quay. A hill of lights, made of house lights and streetlamps, seemed to rise out of the sea to brush the path of the clouds.
These were the lights I loved coming back to in the evening, from this modest balcony on the heights of Algiers, after the faded hours of a lackluster day. I would linger there, gazing at this sparkling scene, savoring the sea breeze on my face, alone with my thoughts, without a care in the world, reliving the golden days of my childhood.
Some memories stay engraved forever; some lights never go out.
