WangXian Thoughts (one shots)

Verse (Pt. 1)

Shrugging off his thoughts, he began reviewing his topics for his lectures today. When he was done, it was already seven fifteen, so he got dressed and rushed out of the apartment.

❄️❄️❄️

Tip of the mountain
Freckled with snow
Beauty, in its essence,
Makes me soar.

Memories were made
Yet its people have flaked
No matter little mountain
Make me yours.

Wonder is yonder
What happens; a question
No matter my mountain
Life has its throes

Ridden of heart
Ridden of soul
Oh, my mountain,
My soul has left yours. ©

Lan Zhan awoke at five in the morning as his discipline had engrained in him. Now, it had become almost second nature to him, so he didn't mind, although it would have been rather incredible if he could sleep longer when he felt like it.

He switched on the electric kettle and settled on the high stool beside the counter and watched the view outside the window on a chilly morning. A lover for tea, he made himself the newest addition to his collection imported from the African continent; Kenya.

Kenyan tea was amber brown in color and brisk in flavor. The best kind for mornings like these. It would make his morning fresh and more inviting.

He thoroughly stirred the concoction before sitting at his study, opening up his MacBook, waiting for it to light up, eventually blessing his eyes with the scenery of the mountains in China. It used to be his creative inspiration until it didn't.

He was a lonely child, not by choice but by nature. His parents had died in a landslide while they were on their way to the airport from the mountains. As the only child, they gave his responsibility to his uncle, who was strict and was a loner himself.

His uncle had passed away two years ago, so he was alone now, but it was getting incredibly lonely and he didn't quite like it. There were so many who had partners, but he was never interested in anyone, neither girls nor boys, and he had many times wondered about his sexuality until he realized it was a useless cause to probe into his inner self.

Hence, Lan Zhan rarely spoke. There were times when it would be days before he heard his own voice because it forced him to interact with someone in the outside world beyond his bubble of loneliness.

He wasn't much of a speaker, but he would love to listen to someone. Someone who had the same altitude as himself. Someone with- if not a lot, at least a little imagination because then he could listen to them and have a look into their minds and how it worked, but most people he'd met were shallow and he'd never been interested in any of them.

But, just like his inspiration had changed, so has his views about a lot of things. He suddenly wanted to speak and listen. He wanted much more than he did earlier. He wanted and wanted.

Lan Zhan wanted. He wanted so, so much.
Opening up the word document on his device, he typed frantically, pausing in between thinking of the best alternatives before firing away once again. Yesterday had brought about his drop of inspiration and he had to admit it was better than it had been in a really long time.