They say pictures say a thousand words, but a smile says a million.
Just like the smile on the middle-aged man's face right now. Soft and kind,
giving you the feeling of warmth and comfort. Yet the curve of his thin
lips and the amused glint in his eyes gives you the annoying feeling of
being teased.
Those eyes, an indescribable blue, crinkled in a never ceasing smile, gazes at you like a caring mother. Its scrutiny eats into your very soul, making feel like you can never keep anything from him. The small specks of gold in his irises sparkles and laughs down at you, but the deep blue seem to cry up at you, reflecting the bright, sunny sky and making it rain.
His face shows clearly a man who holds wisdom beyond his years. He had experienced too enough reality to make him immune to it, thus you may find him sitting in a quiet corner, talking to himself in a world of his own.
He sits on the raised wooden platform, with his legs swinging over the edge, folding thin, delicate orange paper into aeroplanes with his equally delicate hands, just like a small boy. The fragile fingers held up a completed paper aeroplane and shot it into the air. His eyes followed the little shape framed by the violet sky. The amused sparkle was back, as if laughing at a private joke of his own.
Long blonde hair was tied up in a loose knot at his shoulder, framing his pale and thin face. His smiling face. He always felt too lazy to cut it. To compensate for that, he kept it neat and out of the way. The warm breeze swept through the almost deserted courtyard, making the fallen leaves of autumn rustle faintly as they rub against one another, rising and falling onto the ground again.
His soft but smooth voice rings in your ears even after he has stopped talking. The sound was so frail; you feel it might break if he talked to loud. However, just like everything else about it, its brightness and kindness made you feel so warm all over. Like a gentle, coaxing made you relax and open up to him, whether you want to or not.
He glides across the ground like a silent shadow. Only the sharpest of senses would be able to pick up the small sounds of his light footsteps. He bends down, ever so slowly, and picks up a fallen flower from the ground. He stares at the faded colour of the tiny petals, his eyes seems thoughtful. He suddenly laughs out loud, the honey-smooth melody flowing through the air and he tosses the wasted flower over his shoulder with practised carelessness.
People around him stare and wonder, his actions puzzling them all. Yet nobody dares to voice out their curiousness, intimidated by his high rank. His actions mask his true feelings. However, it is the small, unnoticed movements like the slight raising of a delicate eyebrow or the unconscious wave of the hand that held the significant clue leading to the depths of his mind.
Like how he did not care of how other looked of him but always making a point to notice, just for the sake of knowing how they think and musing at them.
He smiles his infamous smile once more, then throws his head up to look up at the dark purple sky and laughs.
Those eyes, an indescribable blue, crinkled in a never ceasing smile, gazes at you like a caring mother. Its scrutiny eats into your very soul, making feel like you can never keep anything from him. The small specks of gold in his irises sparkles and laughs down at you, but the deep blue seem to cry up at you, reflecting the bright, sunny sky and making it rain.
His face shows clearly a man who holds wisdom beyond his years. He had experienced too enough reality to make him immune to it, thus you may find him sitting in a quiet corner, talking to himself in a world of his own.
He sits on the raised wooden platform, with his legs swinging over the edge, folding thin, delicate orange paper into aeroplanes with his equally delicate hands, just like a small boy. The fragile fingers held up a completed paper aeroplane and shot it into the air. His eyes followed the little shape framed by the violet sky. The amused sparkle was back, as if laughing at a private joke of his own.
Long blonde hair was tied up in a loose knot at his shoulder, framing his pale and thin face. His smiling face. He always felt too lazy to cut it. To compensate for that, he kept it neat and out of the way. The warm breeze swept through the almost deserted courtyard, making the fallen leaves of autumn rustle faintly as they rub against one another, rising and falling onto the ground again.
His soft but smooth voice rings in your ears even after he has stopped talking. The sound was so frail; you feel it might break if he talked to loud. However, just like everything else about it, its brightness and kindness made you feel so warm all over. Like a gentle, coaxing made you relax and open up to him, whether you want to or not.
He glides across the ground like a silent shadow. Only the sharpest of senses would be able to pick up the small sounds of his light footsteps. He bends down, ever so slowly, and picks up a fallen flower from the ground. He stares at the faded colour of the tiny petals, his eyes seems thoughtful. He suddenly laughs out loud, the honey-smooth melody flowing through the air and he tosses the wasted flower over his shoulder with practised carelessness.
People around him stare and wonder, his actions puzzling them all. Yet nobody dares to voice out their curiousness, intimidated by his high rank. His actions mask his true feelings. However, it is the small, unnoticed movements like the slight raising of a delicate eyebrow or the unconscious wave of the hand that held the significant clue leading to the depths of his mind.
Like how he did not care of how other looked of him but always making a point to notice, just for the sake of knowing how they think and musing at them.
He smiles his infamous smile once more, then throws his head up to look up at the dark purple sky and laughs.