Neron
the wind breathes lonely
longing to be seen
longing to be seen
Neron interprets Morgan’s oh as disinterest, which is fine for him because he’s already distracted by the way the snow is falling and in thinking about all the types of snowmen they might make. Snow dragons? Snow pigs? Blinking, he glances back in time to hear her question, brow furrowing. ”At first, maybe? It felt very cold. Then it just... didn’t feel like anything,” he explains as best he can; a feat much better achieved when he isn’t fever ridden and delirious.
Already he’s moving to roll snow up into the head of the snowman, snorting to hear that she wants to feed him a flower. ”Flowers are for smelling,” he reminds her, hefting up the snowball to waddle over to where Morgan is still rolling hers up. He deposits it down and holds out his hand. ”As long as it’s not like that water, I’ll do it for you.”
Already he’s moving to roll snow up into the head of the snowman, snorting to hear that she wants to feed him a flower. ”Flowers are for smelling,” he reminds her, hefting up the snowball to waddle over to where Morgan is still rolling hers up. He deposits it down and holds out his hand. ”As long as it’s not like that water, I’ll do it for you.”
sometimes the soul
has days like these
has days like these
