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Ur, it's a weird writing style for me, so please excuse everything. I kind of wrote it like it was a poem, so could you kind of read it like that?
There might be a little geographical accuracy here. I figure since Åland is in the north, the winter months are dark. Yeah.
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The salty air was refreshing. Seagulls flitted just out of reach of grabby little hands, hoping to steal something other than seafood to eat. Tall blonds with perfect bodies chatted away, quite aware of the many pairs of eyes on them as they daintily worked at their ice cream. The sun beat down on sandcastles, bottles of sun block, and abandoned toys. The air was hot, the breeze was cool, and the water was nice. Everyone was smiling.
Back home, the beaches were filled with fishing boats and rocks. The water was far from refreshing; it was frigid. Rough-looking men squabbled over the selling price of halibut, and smokers stood by idly. The sun shone less and less each day because of some Earth-axis-tilt something or other. It would be different if the coast were good for something other than fishing, but it wasn't. She hated it there in the winter months, when no one wanted to smile.
Permission from parents granted, and a plane ride later, she was with him. All the time, cuddled together at night and in each other's arms by day. The sun shone through the windows in wide drafts, and they could lay together on some beat-up couch and watch the dust fall through the sunlight. They could blow on it to make it swirl and freak like a 4D pinwheel in a windstorm. she could marvel at the length of the days and how short the night lasted, and how siestas were the most ingenious thing. And every afternoon won't have been a waste because it will have been warm and together and without a duty of any kind to fulfill by daybreak.
And then he took her to the beach that he'd described over the phone countless times, and no matter how many times he'd told her, nothing had led her to believe it would be so wonderful. There were the ice cream stands, like he said, and the beach goers, like he said, and even the little crabs that scuttle across your feet if you can stand still long enough. But he didn't mention the sky and how blue it was, surprisingly like home, and the deep blue sea, like at home, and the sun, which was exactly the same as at home. But everyone here was smiling in the sun and everyone there was frowning under the cover of darkness even though the time difference was a few hours and they'd seen the exact same sun only recently.
She didn't want to return home, because she loved him and where he lived, but her heart ached for home even if she didn't like it there anymore. She felt traitorous; how could she love another nation more than her own? But for all of it, no matter how sick of the choice she would get, she stayed a little longer, a selfish little bit longer, so she could watch him get up early to make them both breakfast only to find that his mother's done it for him, so she could party with his sister into the early hours and he could laugh at her hangover, and so she could laugh at everything she got. Only reluctantly did she say good bye to all the wonderful things where he was. She would miss everything, everything.
But she would take a little sunshine back with her. A little, but enough for everyone to share.
 Pure Finn · Tue Nov 24, 2009 @ 11:49pm · 1 Comments |
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