enjoy:
tw. suicide
when leo was young, he used to be obsessed with space. the only thing he would do all day and especially every night was looking at the sky, imagining shapes in clouds and building own galaxies in his head.
and he would always stare directly into the sun, no matter how many times his mother told him not to when he was a kid, he wouldn't ever listen to her.
he still did this when he turned twenty one, and said sun was setting with beautiful colors, reds, oranges, yellows and purples mushed together to create a very unique shade.
leo was great with colors. in fact, for him, everything was a color, names, letters, numbers and even voices or songs.
the man stretched out his arms, he felt the warm wind brush through his hair and under his clothes right into his skin where it filled him up and made him relax finally.
they say, when an artist dies, they let him paint the sky for the last time.
and leo was the artist, he a was a great photographer and poet, a hopeless romantic trapped in an unlucky destiny.
and the most beautiful sunset leo had ever seen seemed to be one only for him.
then, with just another step, he was flying.
at least it felt like he was flying.
from the roof of a skyscraper.
looking at his long passion, the sky.
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YOU ARE READING
from august to december
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