BK38
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2009
- Messages
- 16,113
She stepped off the tram and felt the cold through her thin, soaked shoes. The snow always accentuated her sense of touch, her sense of feeling. The towering gothic buildings around her were less imposing and she could see their stark beauty at these times; the soaring icy castles that nature had built upon these imposing edifices of man. She walked slowly, deliberately crunching her feet into the snow, rolling her foot with care from heel to toe, relishing the virginity of it. She liked the feeling of carving her own path and knowing that just for today, she alone had walked this path.
She rounded the corner and began to hear hushed murmurs punctuated by the occasional laugh and cough ahead. Her solitary imprints led to a forest of imprints well-worn; she could see their authors gathering outside a humble grey building. The world was too much for her sometimes and the arrival of the snow marked a softening, a muffling of the sensory, allowing her to focus once again on crisp notes that had brought her to this place. This was her church, a place where the folly of man and the divine coalesced.
Her eyelashes fluttered involuntarily a little as snowflakes kissed her and eyes leapt up to meet hers. A door swung open and she stopped, hesitating. The small tribe streamed into the building and she turned to leave; where was her faith? A voice called out “First time?” The words seemed to hang in the still air and she winced. She wondered how many times she had been here before. Countless times and never she decided. “Coming in?” She turned and offered a meek nod and a thin smile to the voice. There was the kindness of pain in the eyes of the man before her and she held onto that as she took a little step forward.
She rounded the corner and began to hear hushed murmurs punctuated by the occasional laugh and cough ahead. Her solitary imprints led to a forest of imprints well-worn; she could see their authors gathering outside a humble grey building. The world was too much for her sometimes and the arrival of the snow marked a softening, a muffling of the sensory, allowing her to focus once again on crisp notes that had brought her to this place. This was her church, a place where the folly of man and the divine coalesced.
Her eyelashes fluttered involuntarily a little as snowflakes kissed her and eyes leapt up to meet hers. A door swung open and she stopped, hesitating. The small tribe streamed into the building and she turned to leave; where was her faith? A voice called out “First time?” The words seemed to hang in the still air and she winced. She wondered how many times she had been here before. Countless times and never she decided. “Coming in?” She turned and offered a meek nod and a thin smile to the voice. There was the kindness of pain in the eyes of the man before her and she held onto that as she took a little step forward.
