sure smells good.. like fruits and cream to die for. trees were bending to the will of wind and even in the darkest of the night he is shy when he peers only a little over the ledge of the window at her resting on the table and her breath soft.
" i dont mind spending every day.. out in the cold and in the pouring rain.." the small music box on the ledge bleats out in chokes.
as if by magic a relunctant sun got pushed into the dark of the room and illuminated everything, turning soft yogurt a tad sour and watery. he cries for he thinks he destroys everything he touches. yogurt loved him anyways, for in him she could see the best of the room and more..