Comfort.
Found in staring at shining spots of light that dotted the sky and gave a twinkle of a wave every so often. Always there but not always seen; these moments are precious and treasured.
Found in real life oil paintings that danced dramatically across the sky. One of the few things that drew a sliver of a smile upon lips, when such a breath taking masterpiece was gazed upon for hours on end.
Feet aching.
Wind biting.
Eyes closing.
In that moment, peace.
Which is all she really ever wanted. Her one and only wish:
Eternal peace.
But not for too long. Never too much comfort.
“You’re letting the cold air in.”
“It’s getting late.”
“You’ve been up here for hours.”
“Come downstairs.”
Okay
Solitude.
2am. Thoughts fuelling her internal raging storm. Silently shredded her mind into lifeless, broken pieces of failed hope.
3am. Melodic noise insistently forced into the deepest, darkest parts of her mind. Offered momentary solace via a cacophony of sounds that intertwined with gently sung lyrics.
But it never failed to be ripped away all too soon. Always too much solitude.
Sleep.
Silence, at last. Her wish came true.
She became apart of the oil painting that was once studied so intensely through tear brimmed orbs.
She burned and burst and merged with the assault of colours that were painted across the sky.
Her heart fused with the sun, her shining eyes joined the shining stars, her golden hair melded with blazing streaks of light.
A passionate soul joined a passionate artwork:
Drifting.
Fading.
Floating.
In that eternity, finally, she found what she was looking for.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories
Historia CortaJust a collection of things I come up with pretty spontaneously, idk where this stuff comes from but i guess it expresses my thoughts at the time that i wrote it.
