(no subject)
she sat with folded legs on a beige rug that was the kind of new that isnt yet comfortable or springy, but, rather, hard and stubborn. her dark brown eyes contemplated a pile of photos which were visibly worn around the edges. she picked one up randomly and held it firmly with both hands. a tree in a yard. and when she closed her eyes she could smell that freshness of newly cut grass and she could feel those leaves burning in that tree, as if the sunlight it caught was setting it ablaze in a fiery heap. and that green house behind it simply looked on, knowing fully well this intimacy of nature. she put the picture in the plastic sleeve, still feeling that sensation of warmth in the tips of her fingers. turning back to the pile, she ran these fingers along the photos, as if through a puddle of cool water. stopping at a particularly worn picture, she picked it up and help it close to her face. a boy in the snow. his eyes, unusually brown, met her own as she looked down upon this scene. a certain coldness, a sudden anger was emitted from these eyes, and she shivered in spite of the warmth of her room. these eyes which she had seen, had dreamt about, had formed whole beings and worlds around, suddenly turned on her with utter hatred. they began to rush into a blur, and she noticed she'd been crying, a reaction she had tried to teach herself to avoid. and she shoved the tear, along with the picture, into the plastic sleeve beneath the tree. this gave the picture a smeared look, and she almost liked it better this way. it was softer. she picked up another picture, equally as worn. this same boy sitting in front of a grey car. this time, his eyes stayed hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. and this image made her smile. his blond hair looked disheveled and his elbow cut and bruised, but he was warm and quiet. and she recalled times when she felt warm. when he held out a hand for her to hold. when time stood still enough so that you could hear lips move and fingers touch. and she took the picture and lifted it high above her head, arching her elbow so that her hand extending out of the open window and into the afternoon breeze. and in that moment of bliss she let go. and turned back to her work, hiding a smile somewhere on her face.