1. He likes to watch the water run down the windows in their unpatterned rivulets. It's something that Matt notices the first storm that they sit through together, and every other storm or rainfall there after. It's the only time shutters are pushed aside, blinds raised and the apartment opened to the world. He noticed bi-coloured glasses set aside, and bi-coloured eyed reflected in the glass the boy is sitting in front of. He makes note of it that first time, and watches with a masked curiosity, notes flitting in his head
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The sun is like a weight on his back, a gentle pressure compared to the cool shade only recently abandoned. It warms the back of his head, stylishly mussed hair and glints off the smooth surface of his shades. It's a bright reflection in the lenses of her own glasses, a gleam on wire frames and darker hair. It lights on her shoulders and the small form in her hands, all whites and mottled browns, like a scene from a photograph. (Perfectly formed and lit, a freeze frame in one seemingly blissful moment only this is the real thing, no cheesy ad or flick or snapshot could capture this the way he already has, already is
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He likes to watch the water run down the windows in their unpatterned rivulets. It's something that Matt notices the first storm that they sit through together, and every other storm or rainfall there after. It's the only time shutters are pushed aside, blinds raised and the apartment opened to the world. He noticed bi-coloured glasses set aside, and bi-coloured eyed reflected in the glass the boy is sitting in front of. He makes note of it that first time, and watches with a masked curiosity, notes flitting in his head ( ... )
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The sun is like a weight on his back, a gentle pressure compared to the cool shade only recently abandoned. It warms the back of his head, stylishly mussed hair and glints off the smooth surface of his shades. It's a bright reflection in the lenses of her own glasses, a gleam on wire frames and darker hair. It lights on her shoulders and the small form in her hands, all whites and mottled browns, like a scene from a photograph. (Perfectly formed and lit, a freeze frame in one seemingly blissful moment only this is the real thing, no cheesy ad or flick or snapshot could capture this the way he already has, already is ( ... )
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her touch was the sweetest poison
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