His reply never came. On the lazy days when mosquitoes hummed and swanned, my backyard became our ship, and the sky of eternal summer our sea. But I can stay," I heard his whisper. The shafts of moonlight from the window caught his forlorn frame, like a searchlight upon an ashamed convict.
Yet behind all that, far away, there came a second voice, echoing in the recesses of my mind in soft sadness. We make the planes spell out the message, like those real planes do with smoke patterns! He was no longer there, but replacing his self on the other side of the bed were even more paper planes like the rest — messages folded from plain notebook paper I knew he sometimes carried along with him.
His reply never came. I folded my arms behind my head, and felt the soil cool against my knuckles. We would make the best cloud painting of all.
In the silence that followed his reply I gazed at him, even as he avoided my eyes and turned to face the pillow. In the fearfully empty space of chairs and tables and of the fans turning on the ceiling high, high above, we stood against their woven webs of light and shadow, all alone.
The bridge would become a drawbridge, and come swinging down on at least one parcel of giggles and ribbons. London Bridge is falling down, Falling down, falling down, London Bridge is falling down. When the fringes of the sky seeped into a watercolour violet, I stood up and prodded his hip with my toe.
Yet I felt the beginnings of a second tear, cajoled by my flushing cheeks, in my desperate reluctance I did not want him to see. I closed my eyes. Being a comfort is itself pretty comforting. From that day onwards, there was something else I would remember her by.
I heard my own voice wrench my hand away from his. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, the way his hair did, in a strange grey hue. What more was there between us?
He lay beside me in bed, on Sunday night. I closed my eyes, and smiled through my own tears — eternal, I vainly wished, in this moment my presence was of such importance to him; eternal in this moment I was right next to him, even though I would not know — ever — where in his past I had been, or where in his future he wanted me to be.
His arms would find their way around me, and his lips would press soft upon mine. At that moment I wanted to cry — to pretend to cry, in the same way I held the thermometer to the lamp and clapped it back into my mouth just when he came into my room, for weeks and weeks before this night.
When the tip of my brush touched the canvas of the blue sky, the paint became white cotton candy, and beads of sugar glistened all along its strands. I left it there.
When I finally turned to face him, his eyes were glistening into mine in a muted blue I had never seen before. Half-hidden in his hand, I saw, was a folded paper plane.The Opening, “Cloud Age Symphony” by Shuntaro Okino, it’s an upbeat dance rhythm that’s vocals kinda give it a calm ambient feel, that was very unique.
The Regular Episode Ending Theme, “Over the Sky” by Hitomi Kuroishi is a soft sung piece with a nice beat/ Nov 24, · 沖野俊太郎の15年ぶりのフルアルバム《F-A-R》よりMUSIC VIDEO第一弾。 Shuntaro Okino 「この夜にさよなら」 [kono yoru ni sayonara] Director: Takayuki Kojima New.
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The music for Last Exile was created by Dolce Triade, Shuntaro Okino, and Hitomi Kuroishi. Contents[show] Last Exile O.S.T. Details Format: Album Japanese Release Date: 6/21/ North American Release Date: 2/17/ Number of Discs: 1 Japanese Label: Victor Entertainment North American Label.
Follow/Fav Skywriting. By: redexted. Vaguely inspired by a song of the same title by Shuntaro Okino, and by a little scene in Jealous?, a fic by songbirdjen. Mild M/M slash.
Skywriting. A sanctuary, for two different people, brought together at one precious moment in life. Sep 16, · Download Okino, Shuntaro - A Rising Tide mp3.
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