"…the sand of time falls endlessly, without a care for the inhabitants of the world"
I used to hate the rain.
I used to hate having to walk the street of London proper, where everyone was black and grey, where everyone blended together- like a human palette of monochrome paint.
I used to hate having to lug my umbrella around, having to be prepared for rainfall at any time, having to duck into a pub to avoid the occasional downpour… because inevitably, I would have a drink, which would turn into two… then three…
And then memories would surface. And they weren't pleasant ones, either. They were memories that were hundreds of years old, when I used to fight on the fields in the thick of the crew, always ringed by a circle of safety, but unprotected from the sight of men dying all around me. Eventually, I'd remember the other rainy day, when America and I pointed our guns at each other. I'd feel the stinging sensation of raindrops on my cheeks.
Salty rain.
And then I'd cry.
.
.
.
If someone asked me for my perfect ideal life scenario, I used to tell them that it would be:
To settle well outside of London with a bookish, awkward, but sweet, girl with dark chocolate hair and sea foam green eyes flecked with gold (named Alexis, Helen, or something of the kind).
To maintain a sophisticated café with this Alexis/Helen girl and live in a house hidden behind ivy and iron-wrought gates, away from the troubles in the world, and…
Now?
How time changes things so drastically.
Now?
I want to live in the city, in an apartment.
I'd like to live with the most charming, most confident person I've ever known. He may not love me that way, but he's an angel in my eyes. My salvation-
And I'd look at no one else.
.
.
.
I'd wake him in the morning, trying to gently ease him out of the blanket fort and tangled bed sheets despite grumbles in protest.
I'd help him brush his golden hair, and somehow manage to burn the toast again. We'd laugh. I'd leave breakfast to him, and fuss over the mess he made of tying his tie, instead.
His sun-kissed skin and carefree smile brings paints color in my monochrome world, and I find myself leaving those bleak cobblestone streets behind. I'm not planning to return anytime soon.
Because this is home.
When he calls my name.
.
.
.
"Iggy! Hurry up! You promised!" His voice, now impatient and worried, comes from outside the dress room door. England checked his appearance one last time in the mirror before allowing a sheepish smile to flicker on his face.
How things have changed.
He opened the door to meet America's pouting face. "Alfred." His voice rose in playful admonishment as he nodded in acknowledgement.
"Arthur." The blonde mirrored his moves with a grin, sticking out his hand towards the Brit. "Let's go."
[[Drabble during a storm. I was feeling sentimental as was procrastinating on years old projects and stuff...]]