Creative Writing
The air was still, excepting occasional disturbances gliding over skin; the lightest of cooling sensations, which as soon as felt faded away, leaving in their place the warm caress of a mid-day sun. Soft grass felt good against a bare back, producing in my mind an awareness of sensation. Of the weight of a planet pressing against my body. Resting so, my mind took the time to register those things normally dismissed, and my soul took pleasure in so doing. A scent of flowers and earth came with each intake of breath, a slight tingle in the nose, the threat of a sneeze not yet forthcoming. Calmness.
And now, movement betrayed by a quiet rustling, and the dimness of a shadow as seen through closed eyes. The smell of flowers grew steadily. A soft touch felt on the tip of my nose moved delicately downward, over lips that could not help but curve upward at their edges. The movement continued as my eyes opened, to register a face already etched into my heart, here framed against the brilliance of the sun and a pure blue sky. The face moved closer, long soft hair brushing my cheeks as a soft and playful kiss rested upon my lips.
In these moments I awoke from a dream, and lived in a new one.
So goes a snippet of text I found on my old laptop whilst trying to unearth my CV. I forgot how much I enjoy bursts of creative writing, and had completely forgotten about this little passage - a scene belonging to nothing, a moment adrift of context.
I think I want to write again.
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