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Five years ago,
Near a Spring that never came to his dorm.
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The room was filled with a gentle melody tuning from the strings of guiter that had burst into the flames of breathing; it was pure melancholy that accompanied the rhythm stridently. The artist had drown himself into the depth of cosmic blue, his fingers tracing on the hopes his heart had given him with trust. He was determined to return the favor, by the bringing back life to the last cord of peace vibrating under his touch.
Countless rolled up papers were scattered on the floor; the open windows lazily shifting on their places from the rush of chilly wind outside. The blanket he had been wearing a few moments ago were thrown away somewhere near the bed; leaving the male only in a thin sweater and a pair of trousers - not to mention his bare feet tapping on the rag.
