Flowers Blooming in the Church
A Fleeting Dream
Main Theme of Final Fantasy VII
Words Drowned by Fireworks
Song of Prayer
Calm Before the Storm
Battle Theme
Buried in the Snow
Waltz for the Moon
I could hear the melody of the trees whisper at me. It was a calm day. The sun was shining overhead like a bright petal falling onto damp grass. It smelled like lemon and the air almost – nearly, tasted like green tea. I breathed in the warm autumn air and closed my eyes.
It's funny what people can be compared to.
After all, it was her whom that day was modeled after.
Bright, brave, yellow.
Words bring me such joy at times. They coarse through my veins and burst out of my fingertips.
This day was beautiful. The kind of beautiful day that can make your soul smile.
I remember that I opened my eyes again. I saw white and yellow butterflies fleeing from unseen forces, delicately poised on flowers after their sudden flight. I smiled.
It was dawn, if I remember well.
The sun was cloaked in a layer of thin fog, and it smelled of perpetual rainfall. In the faint corners of my mind I felt a tug of happiness.
My head bowed down. I stripped the ground of the unknown as I studied each and every droplet on each and every blade, carefully blinking away my thoughts.
I remember returning home, yet I do not recall if the sky was dark or light. I didn't particularly matter, after all.
I remember turing on the light, bathing the room in the ability to see. The curtains were drawn. It smelled of peach and pie crust.
The oven was a mess. There were burnt crumbs on the bottom and small uncooked bits on the grills. But my oven was my oven. It was a part of me as much as I was a part of it.
I baked day and night. Not that I ate the pastries I baked, but I usually gave them away to my neighbors anyway. Cobblers, cupcakes, pies, cakes. You name it and I baked it.
It gave me a sense of comfort. It reminded me of her.
I remember sitting down on the couch and turning the pages of my favorite book, grazing my eyes over fragile words that my mind had not forgotten, even through all of those years.
I remember dusting off the cover of an old notebook. The pages had browned on the edges, but it still smelled like her.
I remember falling asleep with my glasses on and waking up to light outside. I cannot remember the time of day.
I think to myself, now, of course, where those days are now.
But, alas, I cannot say.
I remember how I felt the gentle kiss of the wind, I remember the sound of skin on skin.
My words were drowned by my sudden tears. I cried. I didn't like nothing. I wanted the presence, not the absence.
But she had gone.
Humanity truly is a beautiful thing. How the soft, pink of her lips merged almost perfectly to the muted skin of her delicate chin. The depth of her eyes even in times where depth was ineffable. The softness of her touch, the careful words that wrapped around me and tugged me in.
I remember reading old poetry under the warmth of my porch light, slowly drifting off into sleep, lulled by the charming song of cicadas.
Falling asleep on those days was never my intention. I wanted to exist in a reality of incandescent beauty.
