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Tapicerías Apasionadas 3

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Cyntia opened the bathroom window to let a breeze flow in. Outside was a wildvine plant, resplendent in vibrant color. A butterfly with blue and green splotches lingered batting the air with a delicate search for loose pollen. As it descended to land upon one singular blossom, another butterfly equally splendid in orange and purple landed for the same pollen. Impossibly, the two creatures clung to the swaying flower, each taking nutrients without seeming to fight, content to share nourishment. This caused Cyntia to think of Quin and her own tolerance to have him near her constantly. When had she stopped needing distance to preserve herself? She didn't need to question -- didn't feel compelled to cling onto him as if he might be a stopover in flight. Even in his absence now, she vowed to ca

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Cyntia opened the bathroom window to let a breeze flow in. Outside was a wildvine plant, resplendent in vibrant color. A butterfly with blue and green splotches lingered batting the air with a delicate search for loose pollen. As it descended to land upon one singular blossom, another butterfly equally splendid in orange and purple landed for the same pollen. Impossibly, the two creatures clung to the swaying flower, each taking nutrients without seeming to fight, content to share nourishment. This caused Cyntia to think of Quin and her own tolerance to have him near her constantly. When had she stopped needing distance to preserve herself? She didn't need to question -- didn't feel compelled to cling onto him as if he might be a stopover in flight. Even in his absence now, she vowed to capture images like this to share with him, knowing he'd see with the same eyes she did. Quin was off hunting for more stable living arrangements and it was her task to scout out a location for them to start singing. Before leaving the room they had let, she buried her face in the pillow where he had lain, breathing in his scent. Just the smell of him sent her skipping out into the sunshine, her long skirt flowing around her legs. The park was beautiful certainly, but was not a gathering place but for the few who took the time to stop and appreciate the outside air. It made more sense to look for a commonly trod path through a necessary section of town. Cyntia paused for a moment to observe where everyone was going. She noticed that most seemed to be heading for the gnomish part of town where the tram ran. Stepping inside she noticed right away the rats and trash. Nothing about this location screamed beauty. Perhaps it was because of this that she began to feel this darkness was a perfect place to create and spread pure joy. Testing the acoustics, Cyntia began humming. She closed her eyes, remembering a song her mother used to sing when Mora (her mother's sense of humor -- calling her a little blueberry) was just eight. As the words came into her mind, she was barely aware of her own voice beginning to bounce around the walls inside. Smiles turned her way, but she was not listening to anything but her inner soul. You are the one who makes me happy When everything else turns to grey Yours is the voice that wakes me mornings And sends me out into the day You are the crowd that sits quiet listening to me And all the mad sense I make You are one of the few things worth remembering And since it's all true... How could anyone mean more to me than you Ah, yes, her voice echoed magnificently in this darkened expanse. There was noise from the tram, but here in the far corner where people had to cross over to the other tracks, their songs would rise above and permeate, sharing a lingering beauty with the lives they touched. Even this song that connoted all she had ever known about love, a blessing shown to her by her own parents, was not enough to express her profound intersection with Quin. She was going to have to get busy soon and write him something truly worthy.