The price of a moment, the significance of memories, the roads we tread on under the sole azure sky, and the value of life itself.
These mere things, once we do something to it-- will subject us to change, to meet a beautiful soul, and to love, unti...
The boy always treads the same path to school, his dark spiked ebony hair clashes with the breeze as he took every step.
A small quarter of a lemon slice was placed between his lips and he savored the sour juice that was squeezed out from it everytime he puckered his lips together.
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He passes the same people under the rays of the same sun everyday, and he stops by for a while in a little shop-- a bookstore that is.
He doesn't go inside, he just merely admires the spectacle of the place. Something about bookstores always confused him, he always thought that it was a place where only people, excluding him, can truly venture out and immerse on the magic of books, an aspect which he cannot understand.
He can't even stand flipping through a book for a couple of minutes.
The shop occupies a space not too great nor small, but enough for a maximum of 30 people inside it. Its walls were painted in mauve, the myriad colors of stained glass windows overlooks the lush verdant hills ahead.
In its carved wooden door hangs a seashell wind chime and a couple of dream catchers.
It looked like a mystical house you always see in fairy tales, those houses that seemed to lie deep in a forest; and once you find it you'll encounter magic within.
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He did this in the same way everytime, and as every fleeting day passed, it turned out to be more and more arid.
He was a tall lad gifted with a gorgeous face. His smile, which he often wears, is warm and always seems to disarm someone who sees it.
He has talent for basketball-- no, it was not a talent. He was born with the gift, making him the ace of a well-known school, oftentimes being crowned with the title "The Genius".
As the seasons changed fom the reddish warmth of fall, to the icy chills of winter, until the vibrant blossoming of spring, this routine of his never did.
Until that day came.
That very day, when he decided to finally enter the shop--when he saw a figure owned by a girl, which delicately holds a book in her hands.
