chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing


See the Shadows of Innocence and Sanity

a shadow of the day

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chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing
About Sin.

The rain is like a thin film of static across his eyes as he stands under the overhang in his back garden at home. Ireland. He breathes in the wet green smell of his homeland and does not care that he cannot really see out into his garden. It is enough to stand here and know he has made it back home. It has been so long. And so lonely.

The rain is falling, straightforward and asking for no apologies. It is a part of him and home. Like sailing. Like cliff walks and stone beaches and thatched roofs. Like Aspasia, asleep in their room here, a piece of his soul he had never known he did not have. He smiles then, and takes a sip of his coffee to wake and warm him in the chill of the misting rain falling about him.

The rain is like static in his eyes, ever present. He can close his eyes and see the rain even past the opaque curtain of his eyelids. Even as he steps out into the grey-misted back garden blindly, eyes still shut tight, but trusting himself to step around the planters and pots set at various levels around his feet. He can feel the droplets fall on his skin, generally soaking his clothes and seeping beneath his skin to take up residence in his bones. He tosses the dregs of his coffee out onto a random section of lawn and breathes. Breathes through his pores and soaks up the atmosphere and energy and life of home. Yes, he had missed this.

He does not say anything when she stands next to him, the umbrella she holds shielding him from the drizzle. Shielding them and giving them their own world, separated… a bubble inside the impenetrable grayness surrounding them. He does not say anything, though he already feels a loss at being separated from the rain. No words are necessary. He just bends enough to kiss her gently, rain droplets on his face transferring and heating against their skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and leads them back into the house with the thatched roof, smelling of the wet greenness of being home, of being in Éirinn, and rock. And earth. And rain. And his anamchara, his Pacie.

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dude, do you have any idea of how crazy it was to sit outside in the frigid air and write about the rain? in the rain??

that was fun though.

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