Sunday, April 26, 2009

with and without words

The was setting and the girl saw the shadows of the tall buildings and the people that move with the setting of the and the rising of the moon. She looked up at the sky where the clouds and the horizon was turning purple with soft hues of yellow, pink, and orange. She sighed a breath of chilly autumn air and reached into her oversized coat pocket to retrieve a cigarette. She lit the end and sucked in as much smoke her lungs can take, then slowly blew it out, feeling the warm strain leave her chest. Somewhere in the distance, the girl heard lingering notes in the air. Before she could stop herself when she realized what she was doing. it was too late to turn back. She was walking towards the music. Sitting on the bench with his back against her, was a young male playing the guitar. His long and tangled brown hair blew in the wind as the song picked up in volume. It was a beautiful sight. Now the sun was slowly setting behind the trees, and as the light, soft hues of pink and purple were disappearing, radiant hues of red and orange gleamed on him. The girls' hands trembled as she dropped the cigarette to the ground. She leaned in closer as she was starting to hear his melancholy voice flow effortlessly with the soothing sound of the guitar. His voice, with a hint of raspiness, painted a story: an old train abandoned in the middle of the desert, with no one but the dust to keep it alive.