~ Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower ~
Hans Christian Andersen
She’s perfect, he decides, right in that moment as he looks down at her. Not flawless, but perfect. She’s perfect in the way that she’s the rain. And the way that sometimes the sunshine manages to dance through it, creating shafts of light, incandescent and infinitely delicate. In the way that she was the wind in the storm, the kind that howls like wolves are at your door and thirsting for your blood. She was perfect in the way of a flower. In the way of contrasts and contradictions. The way that she was cold fire, delicate and fierce, happy but sad.
She was perfect in the way that she was young, and yet her eyes were haunted and ancient, like she’d been through a thousand wars. She was the vision of strawberries, the smell of dust after rain, the sound of colour, the taste of bitter dark chocolate. She was ephemeral. A whisper.
“Write about us,” Evening murmurs, her voice soft and sleepy. She wraps her arms around him, her touch delicate and infinitesimal, like the footsteps of a fairy. The palm of her hand lies on his chest, the fingers gently curled, holding onto him. Oliver smiles.
And he smiles like she is the most important thing in the world. Like nothing else matters at all, because Evening is everything. Right from her dark brown hair to the tips of her toes. Like he loves the space of her collarbones, and the too-many-ribs showing, and the softness of her skin. He smiles like he doesn’t mind that she’s not constant, that she blows cold and then comes back to him, fiercer than before.
And he smiles like there is nothing else that he could write about.
“I’ll write about us,” he whispers back, just as her eyelids flutter closed.
A/N Thank you for reading the prologue :) If you liked it could you comment any thoughts you had? It really helps. Xx Vividity
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Blue Monday
Любовные романыThe rain pours down. Through every crevice, every pothole, crack, hole in the wall, it seeps, dripping, saturating the world. The floor runs with it, an eddying mass of swirls and reflected light. The buildings droop under the constant attack, saggi...
