The summer had been long, and the benefits of heat and gold became limited. It was an eternal moment, skies stood blue in serenity while the yellow roses that once raised their head in thanks, grew grey, exhausted by her presence. The wind had rested a while in her light, but they rested too long, and became lazy. It was a shame that those winds, who so often enjoyed the opportunity of change, now sat, and burdened us. Just like the wind, everything that was once beautiful slouched in sullen expression. This wasn’t permanent, but it sure felt that way.
I sat among those roses until the evening, they needed a companion to keep their spirits high, and so every afternoon I would sit, bring a couple of bottles and drink with them until lunar eventually blessed us with her cooler exterior. Bidding my yellow roses, goodnight, I made the short walk to the mud red entrance of my home, just opposite the garden gates. Lunar accompanied me. She never much like the dark herself, and always escorted her friend’s home, even short distances.
“You look beautiful, as always,” I muttered to her.
“If I appear beautiful tonight, it’s because I emulate the beauty that surrounds me.”
She could never take a compliment, it was her way, it added to her. I asked for a cool eve, but Lunar wasn’t always god at keeping promises. For instance, if you were to ask her for snow you would more than certainly get sleet. It may as well be the opposite of what you wanted, and tonight was no different. The nocturnal hours were spent gasping through razorblade air, while my skin saturated the sheets, soaking me in the moisture I could not afford to lose. Eventually, five thirteen showed his face with Sun, as she crawled slowly along the skyline. She peaked through my blinds, yawned, and shifted a grey blanket around in a weak attempt to acclimatise. I expected her rage to return, and the old grey blanket to be thrown away.
My eyes clasped shut, creating marbles in the corneas in a poor attempt to restore sight. Those marbles were a rose tinted spectrum I could not accept, and I pushing my thumbs inwards until they rolled away. I turned in my beige temperament, listened to my spine crack and waited for the morning haze, but it never came. Instead, a sound at my door and windows, impatient fingertips tapping on the glass a song I head last heard in the shire. His deep, rasping voice called in such valour, I leapt towards the doors and headed out.