A Close Friend
Enfin, je me décide à mettre un truc en Anglais u_u C'est Shuräan (tous les commentaires postés sous le pseudo "Albel", c'est lui =p) qui m'a involontairement poussée à le mettre là, parce qu'apparemment je l'ai impressioné avec cette rédaction vaseuse =) Bon, c'est une rédaction écrite au téléphone, alors excusez la fin idiote, et le style très "rédaction" =S
A little detail I loved was this litte cowlick that always - whatever the weather or time was - glided over his forehead. This delicate jet-black - and how gentle - snake ondulated along this small desert of white skin. Indeed! While his hair was tinged with the night's darkness, his skin was as white as the moon itself. He was taller than me, and how thin; I could guess the slenderness under his loose-fitting clothes. My old friend repeated that he had ordered some more muscles for his birthday - and the joke made me laugh more and more, as the years passed. An other thing was his look; these two irises were for me a real ocean of melted gold and bronze; how gliding they were, first guilt in bright, fire colours, then covered with infinite kindness and intelligence - how exeptional his eyes were!
He had a wonderful imagination, filled with a multitude of dreams and tales. He was an artist at heart, and could tell any story I would have liked, interpretating the characters as an actor would do for a famous theatre play. His expressions while acting, the soudness of his words; he was capable of offering me the bests travels though the world, through time. He also played music, and was an amazing pianist. I enjoyed watching him during his moments of great concentration; I could see his fingers dancing on the black and white floor made by the keys, this fascinating ritual, producing the most beautiful melodies I have ever heard.
He also had some short-comings: I had never seen a shyer person, or someone appreciating more silence than he did. He could stay perfectly still, simply listening to silence. Talking about himself was a torture, and knowing something about his background was designated as a real discovery.
My best memory in his company was a summer night, a few years ago. He took the time of a whole night to tell me the stories and meannings of each constellation in the black sky. He then murmured: "If only I could catch one... one of these shinny stones, floating in the dark atmosphere... I would offer it to you." I could only answer with a tearfull look, filled with happy tears; he took me in his arms, a broken smile on his face, and we stood silent for a long time.
Once I thaught I loved him; but in fact we were simply very close to each other. We shared a lot of memories, stories and travels through our imaginations. Our friendship was so true, and eternal... His destiny decided to kill him in a car accident, some time ago. He probably went away to pick a few stars. I'll keep him in my heart for the rest of my life, but, despite my sadness... I'll remember he taught me what a true friend was.
A Close Friend.
A little detail I loved was this litte cowlick that always - whatever the weather or time was - glided over his forehead. This delicate jet-black - and how gentle - snake ondulated along this small desert of white skin. Indeed! While his hair was tinged with the night's darkness, his skin was as white as the moon itself. He was taller than me, and how thin; I could guess the slenderness under his loose-fitting clothes. My old friend repeated that he had ordered some more muscles for his birthday - and the joke made me laugh more and more, as the years passed. An other thing was his look; these two irises were for me a real ocean of melted gold and bronze; how gliding they were, first guilt in bright, fire colours, then covered with infinite kindness and intelligence - how exeptional his eyes were!
He had a wonderful imagination, filled with a multitude of dreams and tales. He was an artist at heart, and could tell any story I would have liked, interpretating the characters as an actor would do for a famous theatre play. His expressions while acting, the soudness of his words; he was capable of offering me the bests travels though the world, through time. He also played music, and was an amazing pianist. I enjoyed watching him during his moments of great concentration; I could see his fingers dancing on the black and white floor made by the keys, this fascinating ritual, producing the most beautiful melodies I have ever heard.
He also had some short-comings: I had never seen a shyer person, or someone appreciating more silence than he did. He could stay perfectly still, simply listening to silence. Talking about himself was a torture, and knowing something about his background was designated as a real discovery.
My best memory in his company was a summer night, a few years ago. He took the time of a whole night to tell me the stories and meannings of each constellation in the black sky. He then murmured: "If only I could catch one... one of these shinny stones, floating in the dark atmosphere... I would offer it to you." I could only answer with a tearfull look, filled with happy tears; he took me in his arms, a broken smile on his face, and we stood silent for a long time.
Once I thaught I loved him; but in fact we were simply very close to each other. We shared a lot of memories, stories and travels through our imaginations. Our friendship was so true, and eternal... His destiny decided to kill him in a car accident, some time ago. He probably went away to pick a few stars. I'll keep him in my heart for the rest of my life, but, despite my sadness... I'll remember he taught me what a true friend was.
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