The way the wind caresses him as he reaches out for me is like a ballad. One that I’ve danced to a million times over but never quite found the right footing to. His light brown hair is chaos and his eyes are a storm of greens, blues, and dashes of yellow. A parchment of sorrowful words written and scrawled—he reminds me of such a somber, nostalgic song—one of sadness and death. One never known. He is a ballad of phantoms… and, perhaps, one of hope.
