23 jul. 2009

Short story

From the shadows, a graceful figure strode to him.
He started moving slightly his hand on his sketchpad.
Stopped. Then deciding it was imposible to capture such fairness on paper.

His eyes stood open: unblinking. He thought he might start crying out the dryness, when suddenly he felt a pang and the urge to turn away. As the fugure got closer he saw shimering light, like the sun's, radiating from the edges of her body.

With bewilderment, he thought of a godess, but as it stode closer, turning back his head towards the figure, he saw it was a known face.

That's why he couldn't make himself draw such a beauty. Feeling delirious and half mad; he could feal his imagination overflowing him, giving the silhouette two wings that made her look like a bright angel. She got closer and stoke the back of her hand to his cheek, her skin as soft as silk and very light at the touch made him think he had just imangined her caresss, but he felt seconds later, her hand almost inexistant to his sences, still on his skin, the inside of her hand cupping his face.

Why couldn't he draw her?
Such a fascinating, angelical face, not being captured on paper for the world to see. Just then he realized why he wouldn't draw her.
He didn't want to cage her with the lines drawn from a pencil, he loved her too much to bind her to a sheet of paper forever.

At this realization, he lifted his hand to rest it on hers, as she took his other hand in hers to never let go.

1 comentario:

austenfan dijo...

That's such a cute story! I wish it could've been longer though. BTW, I have an award for you here: http://fictiondoesitbetter.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-award-yay.html