Lovis
I am made of
Memories
Sweet as her voice was Lovis had not expected to hear anything more than the whispers of ghosts. Entirely intangible beings. He flinched at the calling of a voice so solid, so true, in its sound. He paused his reading long enough for the sound of her to go quiet before continuing on. He did not answer her until he had finished the final page. The final word.
"Hello," he stood and brushed himself off. Gingerly he placed the book on the grave marker. He would leave it to the elements. The winds would turn its pages and the rains would weep upon them. The sun would fade its colors and would take the words off of the pages. His son had long ago been laid in the earth and to the earth Lovis gave Cedoc's gift.
Lovis turned to face her. A child of the sky. How morbid of a thought to think that one day the earth would take her too, into its depths. "More bird than horse. Are you not?" For the earth to take those familiar with its soils felt like taking a fair due. To take the souls decorated by feather and loved by the winds felt like death must be a being not without greed.
Lovis shook himself and with a final mournful look back to the grave he tried to free himself of the thoughts of death. He tried to focus on the woman living before him. The pulse still in her breast. The breath still in her lungs.
Though she was lovely it was on the instrument that his eyes lingered. Its curves were the ones that his gaze traced longingly. So long he had lived. Why had he never learned to play anything himself?
Lovis was not much of a man for paintings. An art piece of a meadow would be a stale offering to one who had stood amongst the wildflowers in the midst of summer. However the notes sung by an instrument well played were things birthed and made alive.
An old song would wrap itself around he who already knew it well. It remind him of who he had been. Of who he was. Unchanging though the world morphed and contorted around it.
A song new would whisper longingly into the ears of those it met. It would beg of them to remember its sounds. A song fresh on the ear pleaded for remembrance so that it might live beyond the ringing of its final note.
Lovis wondered what songs this woman carried within her.
"Hello," he stood and brushed himself off. Gingerly he placed the book on the grave marker. He would leave it to the elements. The winds would turn its pages and the rains would weep upon them. The sun would fade its colors and would take the words off of the pages. His son had long ago been laid in the earth and to the earth Lovis gave Cedoc's gift.
Lovis turned to face her. A child of the sky. How morbid of a thought to think that one day the earth would take her too, into its depths. "More bird than horse. Are you not?" For the earth to take those familiar with its soils felt like taking a fair due. To take the souls decorated by feather and loved by the winds felt like death must be a being not without greed.
Lovis shook himself and with a final mournful look back to the grave he tried to free himself of the thoughts of death. He tried to focus on the woman living before him. The pulse still in her breast. The breath still in her lungs.
Though she was lovely it was on the instrument that his eyes lingered. Its curves were the ones that his gaze traced longingly. So long he had lived. Why had he never learned to play anything himself?
Lovis was not much of a man for paintings. An art piece of a meadow would be a stale offering to one who had stood amongst the wildflowers in the midst of summer. However the notes sung by an instrument well played were things birthed and made alive.
An old song would wrap itself around he who already knew it well. It remind him of who he had been. Of who he was. Unchanging though the world morphed and contorted around it.
A song new would whisper longingly into the ears of those it met. It would beg of them to remember its sounds. A song fresh on the ear pleaded for remembrance so that it might live beyond the ringing of its final note.
Lovis wondered what songs this woman carried within her.
Link to Artist
Link to Table Base
@Willoughby
I am sorry that this took a bit to get written. Trying to get into this guy's head better.
Link to Table Base
@
I am sorry that this took a bit to get written. Trying to get into this guy's head better.
