and the smell of crushed pine cones was so strong it made the whole world feel sharper, like glass
dull colored leaves crunched under our feet
I imagined them all to be Cinderellas who had been
just for a moment, colorful&bright;&perfect;
then I only stepped on rocks and you laughed at me and called me silly.
I loved it though, the way you threw your head back and put your hands on your knees, your eyes crinkled
your laugh echoed off the mountains it was so loud and
happy it made me want to sing,
all the birds cried out in surprise and flew away over our heads
so many of them they covered the sky for a moment
just the downy blanket of soft crow's wings, the silence seemed so loud after that
you took my hand, it was so big it covered all of mine and I felt the calluses and strength of it until your hand was so warm I pulled away;
you looked sad so I twisted around you and took your other hand.
sometimes it's like trying to remember a long-forgotten dream, trying to remember these times;
other times I can hold a pine cone,
an inky black crow feather,
and I can hear your laugh still echoing in my head.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
and the smell of crushed pine cones was so strong it made the whole world feel sharper, like glass
dull colored leaves crunched under our feet
I imagined them all to be Cinderellas who had been
just for a moment, colorful&bright;&perfect;
then I only stepped on rocks and you laughed at me and called me silly.
I loved it though, the way you threw your head back and put your hands on your knees, your eyes crinkled
your laugh echoed off the mountains it was so loud and
happy it made me want to sing,
all the birds cried out in surprise and flew away over our heads
so many of them they covered the sky for a moment
just the downy blanket of soft crow's wings, the silence seemed so loud after that
you took my hand, it was so big it covered all of mine and I felt the calluses and strength of it until your hand was so warm I pulled away;
you looked sad so I twisted around you and took your other hand.
sometimes it's like trying to remember a long-forgotten dream, trying to remember these times;
other times I can hold a pine cone,
an inky black crow feather,
and I can hear your laugh still echoing in my head.
I honestly have no idea where this came from, but feel free to comment of course; thanks for reading!