Writing.
**What do you think?
--------------------------------------
There is no background information here. Just a face. A face that's teasing. With multitudes of secrets to tell. A perfect face with creases in all of the right places.
A man's face is a rather large, and intriguing question mark, his journey allows him, and everyone some vague answers. But where does the truth in him really lay? There will be no fulfillment for our inquisitive minds until, at the least, we can get him to open his mouth.
But a man is also pure mystery when you cannot see his eyes. And you must before you truly hear him speak. He is a structure, a fortress, full up with experiences and explanations. Strong at the seams, an invincible vaulted door. Up until the point that you peer through his pupils.
He carried a symbol of innocence.
He wasn't going to give way. No. He was content to stare at the ground. Our train rolled into the next station, and he quickly headed for the exit, leaving, without a worry, nothing but displaced air and an empty seat behind him.
"Dearest Susan,
I'ts early in autumn, and the colder days remind me of trodding under colored leaves with you. This morning I took my coat and your favorite gloves and went on a walk with you. Took the subway up to 15th street, and we walked to Ellington park to admire among other things, the flowers being vended on the street corners. I fed pigeons because I know you always enjoyed them, though I think they're such pests. We admired your favorite statue of the Civil War hero. When we had seen enough I went home, leisurely. Before the train back, I stopped to buy you a white tulip, as always.
Why?..Why did god or whomever have to deal this to me? I did nothing, you did nothing, we just lived. How do we deserve this? and why aren't you coming back to me?"
-You like how this tastes, you must, you bitch! You wanted to go, you wanted death, you told me so.-
-It was in your eyes. That question! Like you always wondered why you should continue breathing. You always haunted me. Your face was picturesque, beautiful, but your eyes were like the most horrific wounds.-
The light in the sky was waining. The city was silhouetted on a cool navy backdrop, and then was swallowed. Emerging from the darkness, pinpricks of light appeared, and then became abundant. When once the sky lit the earth, now the earth lit the sky. It was a blazing fire from miles around, but the temperatures in it's midst didn't fluctuate much from the same abrasive cold that the midnight sidewalks were in October.
It most certainly felt cold in Henry's room.
--------------------------------------
There is no background information here. Just a face. A face that's teasing. With multitudes of secrets to tell. A perfect face with creases in all of the right places.
A man's face is a rather large, and intriguing question mark, his journey allows him, and everyone some vague answers. But where does the truth in him really lay? There will be no fulfillment for our inquisitive minds until, at the least, we can get him to open his mouth.
But a man is also pure mystery when you cannot see his eyes. And you must before you truly hear him speak. He is a structure, a fortress, full up with experiences and explanations. Strong at the seams, an invincible vaulted door. Up until the point that you peer through his pupils.
He carried a symbol of innocence.
He wasn't going to give way. No. He was content to stare at the ground. Our train rolled into the next station, and he quickly headed for the exit, leaving, without a worry, nothing but displaced air and an empty seat behind him.
"Dearest Susan,
I'ts early in autumn, and the colder days remind me of trodding under colored leaves with you. This morning I took my coat and your favorite gloves and went on a walk with you. Took the subway up to 15th street, and we walked to Ellington park to admire among other things, the flowers being vended on the street corners. I fed pigeons because I know you always enjoyed them, though I think they're such pests. We admired your favorite statue of the Civil War hero. When we had seen enough I went home, leisurely. Before the train back, I stopped to buy you a white tulip, as always.
Why?..Why did god or whomever have to deal this to me? I did nothing, you did nothing, we just lived. How do we deserve this? and why aren't you coming back to me?"
-You like how this tastes, you must, you bitch! You wanted to go, you wanted death, you told me so.-
-It was in your eyes. That question! Like you always wondered why you should continue breathing. You always haunted me. Your face was picturesque, beautiful, but your eyes were like the most horrific wounds.-
The light in the sky was waining. The city was silhouetted on a cool navy backdrop, and then was swallowed. Emerging from the darkness, pinpricks of light appeared, and then became abundant. When once the sky lit the earth, now the earth lit the sky. It was a blazing fire from miles around, but the temperatures in it's midst didn't fluctuate much from the same abrasive cold that the midnight sidewalks were in October.
It most certainly felt cold in Henry's room.