─✎ back at my bullshit again, I felt like writing something and now I regret doing so.
will probably use this as a prompt for my English assignment for school because I'm too lazy to think about something else, but I will have to add something more if I want a decent grade... ✿
A ray of moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, gently caressing the figure’s face. His skin glimmered lightly, white as that same moon that casted her pitiful gaze on him, contrasting with the blue ink that covered his cheeks in elegant symbols. Eyes of the same vibrant blue spied the room through semi-open eyelids, long eyelashes tarnishing his view.
He laid, still as a corpse, in a corner of that abandoned bedroom. His limbs fell at eerie angles, but it had been long since he last felt pain. In the years he was left alone, he forgot how his body felt. The tears that once fell copious from his eyes dried long ago, and with time he even forgot how to cry. His porcelain body filled with cracks, and even the slightest touch would have made it fall apart. His once soft hair was now mouldy and sticky, and no child would have dared to pick him up and brush it anymore.
The sound of a flute, in the distance, broke the silence that cursed his nights, and a soft sigh escaped from those rosy lips that refused to lose their colour. He closed his eyes, hoping the flute would finally lull him into sleep, and praying to see those children again in his dreams. He forced himself to remember their round faces as they smiled at him, the touch of their small hands as they sloppily put makeup on his face and braided his hair. The sound of their laugh, vivid in his memory, was as melodious as the flute he heard in that moment. He couldn’t remember their names, but he remembered how it felt to be loved, to be cared for.
Where were those children in that moment? Surely, they weren’t children anymore. Maybe they were still out there, playing with their own kids and laughing as they did in the past. Or maybe their time was already over, and they left surrounded by their loved ones. He couldn’t know, after all, he spent so much time alone that it started feeling like a thick jelly.
He lost himself in his memories, reminiscing days in a past so distant that he could hardly remember when they were over. And when the flute’s sound faded away, his eyes tiredly fluttered open, and the sight of his lonesome tomb greeted him once again.
prguitarman
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origamiaround
