Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The slight spring breeze made the leaves of the over-hanging branch dance lightly. The shadows played and tossed on the open book that lay on her lap, on the soft folds of the light pink fabric that made up the lower part of her dress, as she sat on the stone bench at the end of the garden The air was clear and the sky was a light blue, dotted by only the occasional cloud. With the light sounds of nature surrounding her, the distant and cheerful chirping of birds, the gentle rustle of leaves in the slight, cool breezes, she found herself engrossed in her book, a romance novel. She never heard his footsteps, and never even noticed his presence until she saw his shadow come across the pages of her book. When she looked up she, her eyes were greeted by his beaming face, he had found her in the maze of the garden, like a knight coming to rescue his lady-love from the perils of a labyrinth.

This was the first thing that came to mind when I looked at the outfit I had made about a month ago again. I absolutely hate sappiness, but for some reason all I can ever write is romance stories. Maybe I eat too much chocolate or something, or maybe I'm really just a hopeless romantic at heart. Who knows?

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