Post by Lark on Nov 24, 2009 10:17:28 GMT -5
He was only getting older, he thought. It didn't strike him by how much until he recently began to notice the trees he had familiarized himself with over the years. Especially these that swayed alongside River Rancid.
His silvery gray eyes looked up at the autumn struck trees. The willow in the distance was a fine example not of the autumn colors, but of the visible growth with time. It was at least fifteen feet higher than it had been before, but mostly it had grown fuller and wider.
Eleven years. It had been eleven years.
The thought of it gave him chills. That or the wind sneaking through the forest had gotten to him. He put his hand, brisk from the fall, to his jaw and rubbed it slowly up and down his jawline then ascended up his cheek to his brow and back down. He had outgrown all his boyish looks. He was a man now and yet he still felt like the lost fifteen year old at times, he understood a new maturity had been put upon him.
He was still him. Still silly. Still festering. Yet, he thought more now. His decisions were slightly...slightly...less spur of the moment. Some things were bound to never change. They were written in stone. Other parts of him would. With time, with age, something was bound to change.
"I'm getting...old."
He chuckled at his own words. He surely felt as young and sprite as ever. He only wished Max was around to hear him. He could mock Maxwell about his own age...30...something. It wasn't something Maxwell owned up to much though a mere 33 or so was hardly much to worry over.
Still older than me. Always will be.
He mentally stuck out his tongue, but then was overwhelmed with something that had been nagging him...
Lita.
He was no romantic. He tried to be, but his foolish mannerism made him charming in a very untypical way. He managed to woo Lita more than two years ago though. He was still impressed with himself even if it took a lot of chasing and having his ego crushed several times. He'd recovered quickly.
But what now? Two years was not as long as eleven. Yet, it was enough to prove that they were dedicated to one another. The thought of the "M" word gave him chills. Was this what Lita would want now from him?
He ran his finger through his bushy hair. This was a topic he couldn't share with Maxwell. Max had never experienced what he was. That difference alone made Owen realize how blessed he was.
"What do I do now?" he asked himself.
He sighed and watched the river below him. It's putrid smell was hardly noticeable in the winter, making it more enjoyable now. The warm air was what encouraged the stench.
The water flowed by, carrying leaves of red and gold. The trees swayed overhead as if waving farewell to the leaves flowing down river. The trees that Owen had known for eleven years...the ones who had aged with time.
His silvery gray eyes looked up at the autumn struck trees. The willow in the distance was a fine example not of the autumn colors, but of the visible growth with time. It was at least fifteen feet higher than it had been before, but mostly it had grown fuller and wider.
Eleven years. It had been eleven years.
The thought of it gave him chills. That or the wind sneaking through the forest had gotten to him. He put his hand, brisk from the fall, to his jaw and rubbed it slowly up and down his jawline then ascended up his cheek to his brow and back down. He had outgrown all his boyish looks. He was a man now and yet he still felt like the lost fifteen year old at times, he understood a new maturity had been put upon him.
He was still him. Still silly. Still festering. Yet, he thought more now. His decisions were slightly...slightly...less spur of the moment. Some things were bound to never change. They were written in stone. Other parts of him would. With time, with age, something was bound to change.
"I'm getting...old."
He chuckled at his own words. He surely felt as young and sprite as ever. He only wished Max was around to hear him. He could mock Maxwell about his own age...30...something. It wasn't something Maxwell owned up to much though a mere 33 or so was hardly much to worry over.
Still older than me. Always will be.
He mentally stuck out his tongue, but then was overwhelmed with something that had been nagging him...
Lita.
He was no romantic. He tried to be, but his foolish mannerism made him charming in a very untypical way. He managed to woo Lita more than two years ago though. He was still impressed with himself even if it took a lot of chasing and having his ego crushed several times. He'd recovered quickly.
But what now? Two years was not as long as eleven. Yet, it was enough to prove that they were dedicated to one another. The thought of the "M" word gave him chills. Was this what Lita would want now from him?
He ran his finger through his bushy hair. This was a topic he couldn't share with Maxwell. Max had never experienced what he was. That difference alone made Owen realize how blessed he was.
"What do I do now?" he asked himself.
He sighed and watched the river below him. It's putrid smell was hardly noticeable in the winter, making it more enjoyable now. The warm air was what encouraged the stench.
The water flowed by, carrying leaves of red and gold. The trees swayed overhead as if waving farewell to the leaves flowing down river. The trees that Owen had known for eleven years...the ones who had aged with time.