Shadows. Light.
An ocean, its muffled roar.
A desert: cracked earth, sand flowing like crumbling liquid.
Fire. Face. Feathers. Flowers.
(This is a story about time.)
I’ll be here.
A storm. Wings of fabric. Eyes: gold. Dark. Hazel. Familiar and unfamiliar.
Why?
(Effects come before causes, memory before incident.)
I’ll be waiting here.
(This is a story about dreams.)
For what?
(Words are spoken: is that your voice, or another’s? Is this prophesy or recollection, real, or surreal, or more than real?)
Blades cross. Sparks fly. Hands stretch towards each other: will they meet?
She turns to look at him, dark hair made alive by the wind.
I’ll be waiting, so
if you come here
you’ll find me.
I’m promise.
(I promise.)
[this from when I was still a little obsessed with final fantasy 8 because it was just emo enough for me and about love and not being able to deal with change very well. transcription of the first opening animation.]
