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bonnefoisMmmn. No sleep for me, I'm spending the rest of the night on a paper. D:
August 19: At most, flowers - TRC - Syaoran/Sakura - Daisies
[Flowers have tradional meanings when given, the meaning of giving a daisy is Innocence; Loyal love; I'll never tell; Purity; Gentleness; Romance See http://www.clareflorist.co.uk/meanings.asp for more details.]
--
Syoran did not linger on his past, some had it worse, other’s better, but it was his and his alone.
He was sheltered, clothed, and loved by the man who became his father. He enjoyed the work, found talent for it and was content.
If his world was gray, then he was thankful that it was not black, not totally devoid of light.
He buried his past with each shovelful of dirt, within the pieces he placed a nameless past, it’s desolate and cold existence, all entombed within the dirt he worked in. With the dry, dusty sands he moved to find artifacts, he placed the unpleasant past from his mind.
--
There are fairytales, with gallant knights and beautiful princesses, dragons and man eating beasts.
The knights protect the princesses, their light, their one true love, their reason for being.
There are angels, he’s seen angels printed on doors and in antique books with gilded pages, with white wings and guiding arms that held and cradled people, cared for them with kind faces. Whispered kindness, on bended knee, their light and love pass over the land, filling it with warmth.
Syaoran placed them securely in the realm of fantasies. Of things which should be, but are not, of dreams and pale avatars of hope and for children to cherish then discard.
He reads them without believing, he sleeps and dreams about princesses and knights, their hands clasped.
--
The first time he saw her, she had flowers entwined into her hair, white with gold-hued centers.
“They’re daisies.” She said, and then she smiled. It was like the first ray of spring melting winters tyranny.
“Aaah?” He replied, dumbfounded and slightly confused, almost unnerved by the strange girl who radiated warmth and joy.
“You’re probably wondering about the flowers, the gardener called them weeds and wanted to throw them out, but I think they’re lovely. Don’t you think so too?”
“Oh.. Yes. Certainly.” Even then, his speech belied his years. Too mature, a boy-man without the usual cares of someone his age.
And she laughed, and took his hand without the least bit of restraint or shyness. His face was tinted red, but it was unperceivable behind the tan of working in pits and sand.
--
“Sakura treasures weeds. She brings in strays daily,” says Touya with a slight glance towards the young boy. His eyes narrow and his lips thin.
“I suppose. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, ” Yukito replies, and smiles all the way.
Touya grunts in response, his eyes not leaving the new stay in Sakura’s ever growing collection. Last week a mangy mutt with scraggly fur, next a common boy layered with dust and callouses far what a child should have.
--
There are times when he swears to have seen wings on her back, an inflection of light, of pure radiance, he rubs his eyes and it’s gone.
The gold of the sunset clings to her like a halo, a more beautiful sight than any gilded jewel could replicate.
He sleeps and dreams of angelic light, of love and dreams and hope, unrefined, cherished.
--
“Tell me a story, please?” She pleads, with eyes so innocent he could not think of refusing. “It’ll make me feel better, I think”
So he speaks of fairytales, of dragons and beast and legends of lore.
Of a beautiful young princess who warmed the heart of a knight, and how he swore to protect her with his life if need be. Of a young princess who annoyed her brother the king by bringing in strays and loving weeds and seeing beauty in a dust-covered knight.
Of light and love and smiles and warmth all from this princess, how she brought spring in a land of endless winter, and how the prince loved her with all his heart.
“Do you believe in them?” She asks, her eyes drooping with fatigue.
It is a while before he answers, his voice husky with emotion.
“Yes.”
--
Syaoran believes in angels, in warmth and love and sacrifice. Even fairytales have truth, value, meaning. He believes in light, in spring flowers thought of as weeds, in second chances.
Syaoran has learned to smile, how to love, how to open up his hands in wonder. He is still a gawky boy-man, still dust-covered, still fettered with a past he tries not to think of. Still too serious, still more man than boy, but she is kind, and she takes his hand and speaks of wonders. And he believes her.
She has taught him these things, with gentle smiles and soft words.
He knows he will love her until the day he dies, regardless of the consequences.
--
August 19: At most, flowers - TRC - Syaoran/Sakura - Daisies
[Flowers have tradional meanings when given, the meaning of giving a daisy is Innocence; Loyal love; I'll never tell; Purity; Gentleness; Romance See http://www.clareflorist.co.uk/meanings.asp for more details.]
--
Syoran did not linger on his past, some had it worse, other’s better, but it was his and his alone.
He was sheltered, clothed, and loved by the man who became his father. He enjoyed the work, found talent for it and was content.
If his world was gray, then he was thankful that it was not black, not totally devoid of light.
He buried his past with each shovelful of dirt, within the pieces he placed a nameless past, it’s desolate and cold existence, all entombed within the dirt he worked in. With the dry, dusty sands he moved to find artifacts, he placed the unpleasant past from his mind.
--
There are fairytales, with gallant knights and beautiful princesses, dragons and man eating beasts.
The knights protect the princesses, their light, their one true love, their reason for being.
There are angels, he’s seen angels printed on doors and in antique books with gilded pages, with white wings and guiding arms that held and cradled people, cared for them with kind faces. Whispered kindness, on bended knee, their light and love pass over the land, filling it with warmth.
Syaoran placed them securely in the realm of fantasies. Of things which should be, but are not, of dreams and pale avatars of hope and for children to cherish then discard.
He reads them without believing, he sleeps and dreams about princesses and knights, their hands clasped.
--
The first time he saw her, she had flowers entwined into her hair, white with gold-hued centers.
“They’re daisies.” She said, and then she smiled. It was like the first ray of spring melting winters tyranny.
“Aaah?” He replied, dumbfounded and slightly confused, almost unnerved by the strange girl who radiated warmth and joy.
“You’re probably wondering about the flowers, the gardener called them weeds and wanted to throw them out, but I think they’re lovely. Don’t you think so too?”
“Oh.. Yes. Certainly.” Even then, his speech belied his years. Too mature, a boy-man without the usual cares of someone his age.
And she laughed, and took his hand without the least bit of restraint or shyness. His face was tinted red, but it was unperceivable behind the tan of working in pits and sand.
--
“Sakura treasures weeds. She brings in strays daily,” says Touya with a slight glance towards the young boy. His eyes narrow and his lips thin.
“I suppose. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, ” Yukito replies, and smiles all the way.
Touya grunts in response, his eyes not leaving the new stay in Sakura’s ever growing collection. Last week a mangy mutt with scraggly fur, next a common boy layered with dust and callouses far what a child should have.
--
There are times when he swears to have seen wings on her back, an inflection of light, of pure radiance, he rubs his eyes and it’s gone.
The gold of the sunset clings to her like a halo, a more beautiful sight than any gilded jewel could replicate.
He sleeps and dreams of angelic light, of love and dreams and hope, unrefined, cherished.
--
“Tell me a story, please?” She pleads, with eyes so innocent he could not think of refusing. “It’ll make me feel better, I think”
So he speaks of fairytales, of dragons and beast and legends of lore.
Of a beautiful young princess who warmed the heart of a knight, and how he swore to protect her with his life if need be. Of a young princess who annoyed her brother the king by bringing in strays and loving weeds and seeing beauty in a dust-covered knight.
Of light and love and smiles and warmth all from this princess, how she brought spring in a land of endless winter, and how the prince loved her with all his heart.
“Do you believe in them?” She asks, her eyes drooping with fatigue.
It is a while before he answers, his voice husky with emotion.
“Yes.”
--
Syaoran believes in angels, in warmth and love and sacrifice. Even fairytales have truth, value, meaning. He believes in light, in spring flowers thought of as weeds, in second chances.
Syaoran has learned to smile, how to love, how to open up his hands in wonder. He is still a gawky boy-man, still dust-covered, still fettered with a past he tries not to think of. Still too serious, still more man than boy, but she is kind, and she takes his hand and speaks of wonders. And he believes her.
She has taught him these things, with gentle smiles and soft words.
He knows he will love her until the day he dies, regardless of the consequences.
--
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Date: 2005-08-19 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 03:02 am (UTC)