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He is fluent in the language of cold abandonment. Behind him are wisps of sunlight, toasting the fields of wheat in his hair. His smile is a shallow pool, inconsistent and transparent. In his grim mask of expression is a ghostly eeriness, like he was once alive but now exists only through his bitterness. In his precocious mind of self indulgent thoughts a world with winter daybreak is a destination to never be reached.
A golden sunshine glints in his eyes of dark, sinister mahogany. There is no way he’ll learn to refuse the curious misery he is infinitely surrounded by. He will never abandon the coldness. In the bespeckled thoughts that dot his erratic mind, the cold gives him power.
And she sighs a tired sigh.
The girl sitting next to him, bountiful in her hope. The girl who gave him everything he didn’t deserve. In her azure eyes, tears begin to brew like the words she can’t find, manifesting in watery expression. She reaches out to stroke his cheek, alabaster even in the golden light stolen from the sun. Her fingers smell like bread and are freshly baked warm. Yet the warmth from within her evaporates like the faith she had in him.
She sighs, because she’s finally giving up on him.