El chico del saxofón
- Reads 162
- Votes 4
- Parts 3
Ongoing23m
Last published Wed, Jun 7, 2017
05 de Agosto, fue el día que mi vida cambió.
Una tormenta inesperada, una taza de café, un suave jazz, un chico, un saxofón y un amor que jamás esperé.
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jazz
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𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 {𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐄}📻🍎
𝙏𝙍𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙀𝙓𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙎 . . 𝙍𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙊𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙇𝙀 : ""𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙. 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎'𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛'𝚜, 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍... 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜! "" Feedback is always appreciated! • 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐩 • 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 • 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓! • 𝐓𝐖: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 , 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞 , 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 , 𝐞𝐭𝐜... (𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧gComplete
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.Complete
You will appreciate it after everything is gone but its too late for realise it..
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