All My Poetic Tendencies.

7

He was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense. He was beautiful like rain splashing off pavement under yellow street lights. Like a flash of a red hat or scarf on a grey day. Like the sound of a carnival coming to town. He was beautiful like the sound of people laughing. He was beautiful with grace like a feather lost to the wind. Like the smell of newly cut grass. Like the colours of the autumn leaves high up on the mountains. Like the weightlessness felt on a roller coaster. He was beautiful like fresh snow falling onto cold lashes. Like looking at the sky on a clear day. Seeing him was like being able to see colour for the first time, and by God was it wonderful.