On paper he danced, like reflected stars.
With music to match, he painted the sky.
He held in place the sky with eager eyes.
Indifferent of the blooms that were naught but fleeting,
he was covered in sweet, starry whispers.
Cold was the air, but colder was the solitude.
He cannot dance forever, as the rain too, falls eventually.
Ripping, soaking his page that was life
with melodious sorrows fading away, taking him in embrace.
A second snippet of what is to come. I honestly am just making it up as I go along, but really, it’s coming togethe rather beautifully if I may say so myself. I’m working on this really well, and I want to be proud of this.
Can you still wait longer?