Post by fallingwithgrace on Feb 13, 2007 0:21:15 GMT -5
prologue
He stands inside, his fingers pressed gently against the glass pane of the window. He lets out a long shaky breath, watching as the glass fogs up, leaving it hazy. He shifts his frame, his thin long-sleeved t-shirt wraps close to his body, seeing the snow fall slightly and delicately outside. His voice catches itself in his throat now, and he turns away from that picture framed in time, the picture with the snow, the picture that he wishes he could erase from his mind.
He doesn't know what he's doing, he doesn't know what he wants. All the sudden he feels as if he has to go, has to see.
The slam of the door, stepping outside into the snow. His feet are bare and the ample clothes he has on is not enough to offer him warmth.
But the snow is irrelevant. It tumbles into his tousled hair, clinging in wet clumps to his shirt, and he is merely oblivious, stopping only a several times to brush it off his clothes.
His feet burn at the contact of this winter that has come. He looks up at the snow falling, surprised, as if he hasn't realized it's winter already. How much time has passed that he has denied.
That's when he breaks. His face crumples and tears threaten to overcome him, freezing on his skin as he falls to his knees, ignoring the wetness on the knees of his faded jeans.
And as fast as it comes, it's over. He wipes his sleeve over his eyes and finds that it hurts to remember.
But that he should. He should remember. The girl who changed his life, the one that turned him inside out.
The one who made him who he was.
The one he'd never forget because she changed him. Forever.
He stands inside, his fingers pressed gently against the glass pane of the window. He lets out a long shaky breath, watching as the glass fogs up, leaving it hazy. He shifts his frame, his thin long-sleeved t-shirt wraps close to his body, seeing the snow fall slightly and delicately outside. His voice catches itself in his throat now, and he turns away from that picture framed in time, the picture with the snow, the picture that he wishes he could erase from his mind.
He doesn't know what he's doing, he doesn't know what he wants. All the sudden he feels as if he has to go, has to see.
The slam of the door, stepping outside into the snow. His feet are bare and the ample clothes he has on is not enough to offer him warmth.
But the snow is irrelevant. It tumbles into his tousled hair, clinging in wet clumps to his shirt, and he is merely oblivious, stopping only a several times to brush it off his clothes.
His feet burn at the contact of this winter that has come. He looks up at the snow falling, surprised, as if he hasn't realized it's winter already. How much time has passed that he has denied.
That's when he breaks. His face crumples and tears threaten to overcome him, freezing on his skin as he falls to his knees, ignoring the wetness on the knees of his faded jeans.
And as fast as it comes, it's over. He wipes his sleeve over his eyes and finds that it hurts to remember.
But that he should. He should remember. The girl who changed his life, the one that turned him inside out.
The one who made him who he was.
The one he'd never forget because she changed him. Forever.
