01-28-2021, 08:34 PM
[div style="margin: auto; max-width: 475px; padding: 5%; min-height: 20px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 17px;"]Once upon a time.
Numerous the definition tied, yet singular the purpose, intent always evident in that to follow. They all had such, a time bygone littered with too much, a broken landscape pitted with debris, those lucky unscathed. Had he the good sense possibly that unease may have found a place in the hollow expanse of his chest, lodge there where the grave for a heart is erected, buried now in sand coarse and hot beneath unforgiving sun. Yet there is none, taken in that fabled once upon a time, the days populated by such overcome by jade that soured his thoughts.
Narrowed those whiskey hued depths, perceived the origin of unsure call, sought attention in given hail. Such given, though still his own tongue. Study commenced, dragged over seconds that coalesced into minutes. Indeed of a grand height this one, atop stilts one may hope achieved such, odd for such. Attempt was made to bite back the snort that left flaring nostrils, though weak it and thus it came forth, scratchy the drawl of his voice. "An here I thought giraffes were a myth." Jovial the lightly presented tease, crooked the grin that lifted singular corner of his mouth, head shifting as the feathered extension of twin tails moved in gesture.
Question offered what finally drew his attention once more, comment on the night put aside for such beauty may be remarked on but he bore no care for such, lost as he ached for another sand adorned land. "Palm Glades, huh. Who thought up sucha pompous name." Known another by similar moniker, threaded through murmured comment an annoyance not for the boy before nor the land he spoke of. This place was fresh, unburdened by that which acted leaden weight against his hip, threadbare the crumbling bag. Teeth fastened about tongue, ground against the muscle as he contemplated.
"If you'd have me could I, uh…" Voice dwindled as old lessons reverberated through his mind, voice his own taken a scolding tone, mockery laced in false sentiments. Never stop moving, don't allow yourself the false sense of security. Brusque the rejection, sullen still the threads of his every thought as he stepped closer, once more adorned in a grin of poor quality. "If an old bat like me is allowed I wouldn't mind sticking round."
Numerous the definition tied, yet singular the purpose, intent always evident in that to follow. They all had such, a time bygone littered with too much, a broken landscape pitted with debris, those lucky unscathed. Had he the good sense possibly that unease may have found a place in the hollow expanse of his chest, lodge there where the grave for a heart is erected, buried now in sand coarse and hot beneath unforgiving sun. Yet there is none, taken in that fabled once upon a time, the days populated by such overcome by jade that soured his thoughts.
Narrowed those whiskey hued depths, perceived the origin of unsure call, sought attention in given hail. Such given, though still his own tongue. Study commenced, dragged over seconds that coalesced into minutes. Indeed of a grand height this one, atop stilts one may hope achieved such, odd for such. Attempt was made to bite back the snort that left flaring nostrils, though weak it and thus it came forth, scratchy the drawl of his voice. "An here I thought giraffes were a myth." Jovial the lightly presented tease, crooked the grin that lifted singular corner of his mouth, head shifting as the feathered extension of twin tails moved in gesture.
Question offered what finally drew his attention once more, comment on the night put aside for such beauty may be remarked on but he bore no care for such, lost as he ached for another sand adorned land. "Palm Glades, huh. Who thought up sucha pompous name." Known another by similar moniker, threaded through murmured comment an annoyance not for the boy before nor the land he spoke of. This place was fresh, unburdened by that which acted leaden weight against his hip, threadbare the crumbling bag. Teeth fastened about tongue, ground against the muscle as he contemplated.
"If you'd have me could I, uh…" Voice dwindled as old lessons reverberated through his mind, voice his own taken a scolding tone, mockery laced in false sentiments. Never stop moving, don't allow yourself the false sense of security. Brusque the rejection, sullen still the threads of his every thought as he stepped closer, once more adorned in a grin of poor quality. "If an old bat like me is allowed I wouldn't mind sticking round."