Damnit Microsoft! I don't care if 'foresty' isn't a word! *Roars* I'LL MAKE IT A WORD!
...
Well, I guess I wouldn't call this one of the bestfirst impressions I could've made as a newbie to YWS (as this would be considered my first post... I believe I'll be paying the 'Welcome Area' a brief visit after this) but I guess it'll have to do.
I'm a bit unsure about whether or not this would really apply to the romance section but it's close enough... I have a feeling I kind of blotched up my tenses in this one-shot.
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Rain
Atticus loved the rain. The gentle pitter patter of water droplets against glass windows and worn out pavement was soothing to the nerves and the feel of it against his bare skin was heavenly. A steady rhythm of splish.slide.plip. was a constant and just about everything else was drowned out by the sheer beauty of its simplicity.
It was during rainy days like these, that Atticus found himself letting go, letting go of everything and just living in the moment.
He would let his eyelids slide closed and his face would be upturned towards the heavens. Strands of strawberry blonde hair would be clinging to his porcelain complexion and his t-shirt and denim jeans would be soaked to their very cores but it really didn't matter. Not now anyway.
His arms would then spread out, as if they were wings, as if he was capable of embracing the rains, the skies and the heavens themselves. A serene smile –a small tilt to the lips- would be plastered on his face, the type of smile that he often didn't know he was wearing until it was pointed out and would instantly disappear only to be replaced by spluttering, a scarlet face or both. But right now, he didn't think that really mattered because no one had ever walked upon him during rainy days like this. Only one person had the right to see him like this. He didn't exist though, yet for some inexplicable reason, he was there. The being needs not a reason to be there, but he was. Plain and simple.
It'd made things seem so less lonely and he was thankful for the presence regardless.
His feet would then move of their accord. Heel toe, toe heel, step, jump, twist, lean, spring, pivot, slide. His lower limbs would move in elegant arcs in a dance he'd admit to never seen before in his life, soft splashes could be heard every time he'd landed in a particular grace that he never knew he'd possessed but he never questioned it, not now, because it really didn't matter, right now, the only thing that mattered was the rain pattering on his face and trickling down his chin.
Every once and a while, he'd catch a glimpse of molten gold orbs and short ink black tresses within the corner of his eyes. He'd turn and there'd be no one there, then he'd pivot and commence his dance once again. Laughter would be carried upon the wind – gentle and tender - and Atticus would find his eyes slipping closed once again, and the oh-so familiar name upon the tip of his tongue as he revelled in the velvety texture of a non-existent laugh. He'd stop the dance altogether because he always knew what came next, even if he couldn't see it, even if he couldn't (on rare occasion) feel it, he still waited. Because there was no such thing as time when it rained.
His eyes would always be closed because the one thing that he'd always been terrified of is if the presence would just one day up and disappear. So he closed his eyes just so he'd know it was still there, just so the moment would never shatter. And he'd feel it.
The shifting of the humid air was he felt – felt - ghostly arms – so strong - envelope him and – he could swear he felt it - a warm breath ghosting over his forehead as imaginary lips lingered and as his blonde locks flittered in accordance to the exhales and inhales of the presence. And just for one moment as he allowed himself the mere luxury of leaning into that – oh-so real - warmth nose buried into the imaginary crook of the other's neck and inhaling. Intermingled with the scent of fresh rain was a musky spicy scent with a hint of something foresty. It was intoxicating and he wished – he oh-so desperately wished - that the moment would last forever. He simply wished to stay enveloped in that embrace belonging to a person that did not exist and engulfed in the scent that did not wholly belong to the rain.
You haven't changed at all Atticus, he could hear a chuckle reverberate from somewhere in front and he could almost see – even with his eyes closed - the fond smile playing upon thin lips.
"I…" Atticus spoke and just like that the rain had stopped, the moment was shattered and he stumbled forward, almost tumbling head first into stone pavement.
***
Atticus loved the rain. It made him so happy because he only lived for that one moment; nothing else mattered but the pitter patter of the rain and a laugh that always carried itself along the wind.
But when the sun came out, he found that the only thing he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry because he just felt so very lonely.
and your sig, hahaha.
