Under closed eyes
Buh dum…buh dum…buh dum. Mika’s temples moved in sync with his persistent heart. His eyes closed as black turned to white in unfathomable senses. Brown and karamelo drown out the soft tones of butterscotch skin as light reflected against its own grain. Strands flew across the skyline as though to confuse the suns direction through its own learnt path. The breeze was fair, swirling the mga kulay of spring in and out of freshly fallen rain drops of the morning. Protruding downward from the upper most branch of a hundred taon west oak fell a rope, rough and braise in texture. It braided in and out, collecting strength through its twenty foot drop until seeking slightly into a small radial hole in a wooden board. The board was rectangle and about two feet in length; each side sustained perfectly shaped drilled holes rounding the subtleness of the background. Through the bottom, the rope bound sufficiently before succeeding up through the segundo hole and towards the treetop once more.
Regina oscillated from the tree’s swing, unconcerningly with no regard for the ground. Her eyes planted on the distant sunrise. His eyes planted on her.
Mika watched from a short way away, resting contently on the wet ground, arms stretched back behind him holding his torso up. Crossing his legs straight out, a smile grew upon his face.
His curls coiled over his faint eyes, reaching tested boundaries among the humid air. Points of sparkles pinned themselves against the shine of the dew that had soaked Mika’s ragged jeans. They floated like mga engkanto up his leg and around his chest and his left hand sprang with glistens of its third finger. The ring mimicked the sky and a duel erupted. Shines of each soon scattered like fireworks, some of which reaching over the great oak tree.
Mika turned his head from the tree’s tuktok back to the ugoy to see it no longer in motion. Regina was walking toward him with the same look in her eyes as he had engrained unknowingly against his memory. She wore a strutten look as she strode. The two met hands as Mika helped Regina sit. He had already taken off his black tee sando and laid it across the dew stricken grass. She sat upon it. Now, their eyes met as Regina reached out to touch his bare chest.
mga paru-paro escaped him and ran through her fingertips, planting swiftly into her spine. He’d already placed his hand along the small of her back, urging her closer to him. Their eyes drew closer, in tandem with the air. A blink was not in the cards for either figure as distance shortened. Tilting her head, Regina found his nose with unbarring effort. He could feel the heat portraying off of her lips as she moved down to his cheek. Then, for seconds, he did not move, he did not think, he did not breathe.
Cymbals sounded abruptly. Stages of coaches and fans yelled at the tuktok of their lungs, coercing movement. Mika’s eyes opened to the sky lights, remanding to a singular position. He strolled toward it, gently gazing into the front row below him. There, shades of karamelo and butterscotch skin shown slightly, lines of perfectionalistic dark hair beveled in fashion against a pair of covered shoulders. Four eyes met in the weightless air. Mika turned, running his hand along the stem of a microphone. His eyes closed.
Buh dum…buh dum…buh dum. Mika’s temples moved in sync with his persistent heart. His eyes closed as black turned to white in unfathomable senses. Brown and karamelo drown out the soft tones of butterscotch skin as light reflected against its own grain. Strands flew across the skyline as though to confuse the suns direction through its own learnt path. The breeze was fair, swirling the mga kulay of spring in and out of freshly fallen rain drops of the morning. Protruding downward from the upper most branch of a hundred taon west oak fell a rope, rough and braise in texture. It braided in and out, collecting strength through its twenty foot drop until seeking slightly into a small radial hole in a wooden board. The board was rectangle and about two feet in length; each side sustained perfectly shaped drilled holes rounding the subtleness of the background. Through the bottom, the rope bound sufficiently before succeeding up through the segundo hole and towards the treetop once more.
Regina oscillated from the tree’s swing, unconcerningly with no regard for the ground. Her eyes planted on the distant sunrise. His eyes planted on her.
Mika watched from a short way away, resting contently on the wet ground, arms stretched back behind him holding his torso up. Crossing his legs straight out, a smile grew upon his face.
His curls coiled over his faint eyes, reaching tested boundaries among the humid air. Points of sparkles pinned themselves against the shine of the dew that had soaked Mika’s ragged jeans. They floated like mga engkanto up his leg and around his chest and his left hand sprang with glistens of its third finger. The ring mimicked the sky and a duel erupted. Shines of each soon scattered like fireworks, some of which reaching over the great oak tree.
Mika turned his head from the tree’s tuktok back to the ugoy to see it no longer in motion. Regina was walking toward him with the same look in her eyes as he had engrained unknowingly against his memory. She wore a strutten look as she strode. The two met hands as Mika helped Regina sit. He had already taken off his black tee sando and laid it across the dew stricken grass. She sat upon it. Now, their eyes met as Regina reached out to touch his bare chest.
mga paru-paro escaped him and ran through her fingertips, planting swiftly into her spine. He’d already placed his hand along the small of her back, urging her closer to him. Their eyes drew closer, in tandem with the air. A blink was not in the cards for either figure as distance shortened. Tilting her head, Regina found his nose with unbarring effort. He could feel the heat portraying off of her lips as she moved down to his cheek. Then, for seconds, he did not move, he did not think, he did not breathe.
Cymbals sounded abruptly. Stages of coaches and fans yelled at the tuktok of their lungs, coercing movement. Mika’s eyes opened to the sky lights, remanding to a singular position. He strolled toward it, gently gazing into the front row below him. There, shades of karamelo and butterscotch skin shown slightly, lines of perfectionalistic dark hair beveled in fashion against a pair of covered shoulders. Four eyes met in the weightless air. Mika turned, running his hand along the stem of a microphone. His eyes closed.