At first scattered and seemingly meaningless passing quickly as the wind or early morning rain mementos of sadly sweetened serendipitous times each neatly packed away labeled as loss or gain the world goes on we compose our unique song a curious mix of love laughingly dancing with pain growing large and distant, our mountains to eternity and we reach a day when only memories remain
I just want to become an art under his hands, to be made up of ripped colors and lines. I only want to be whispered like an old, forgotten spell, to be sighed and murmured in his darkest nights. I want to be the song that plays over and over in his mind, to be the watch on his wrist that does not tell time.
But I’m only a spilled ink smeared across his desk—dried up, cracked, a poem left unsaid.
Dancing in the rain. After the war Fenrys finds this female, who is just his entire life. She makes his life better, like he’s finally seeing in colors. Mates are rare, so no, they aren’t mates. But he doesnt need that. He just needs her and he cant describe what its like around her, but the one time he did, he went on and on for hours. One night it rained and she tugged him out of bed, laughing, and they raced outside. (Waking up Aelin and Rowan). And they started dancing; crazy, wild dancing, slow, soft dancing. All sorts of dancing. And they talked, and sang a bit, and gossiped even. Their hair was plastered to their faces and she pushed water out of his eyes and kissed him like her life depended on it and he kissed her back. And Aelin opened the window and leaned out, cheering.