Author's Note: This is my first fic up on ff.net! (and probably my fourth fic ever. o.O) I hope it's not too confusing… Syaoran sitting in a tree dreaming about Sakura, there isn't too much of a plot. ^^;; (Consider it a "mood" fic… that's how someone described a fic similar to this one in a review somewhere. Anyway… enjoy!) Oh and I don't own CCS, don't sue me… blah, blah. The title "Just Push Play" comes from Aerosmith's new CD. (So don't sue me for that either!)
Pause. A liquid diamond suspended in midair-dangling by a silver thread. It's facets melted into each other, creating a pinnacle at the summit and washing into a sphere below. It struck a withered oak leaf and dashed into miniature fragments. But to whom did this watery gem belong? Ask Li Syaoran, perched high above the ground upon the limb of a wintry oak tree.
Rewind. Crowned with threads of amber, an alluring princess drifted into Syaoran's view. She needn't own jewels: her crisp, emerald eyes were worth more than any stone. But that wasn't all that had captured Syaoran's gaze. Her hands-sleek as satin, adorned with long, graceful fingers. Some may say that the eyes are the windows to one's soul; however the hands are what performs the soul's work. A creature with hands as beautiful as the rest of one's self, is truly a well-rounded beauty.
She didn't have a royal court with subjects of all sorts, this princess. She had a dark haired girl with a video camera and a talking ball of fluff. She was a soldier; her own army, in fact-not many princesses hold bragging rights to that. Not many would call her a princess at all, but to Syaoran she was the definition of the title.
But what more can a pauper do than to dream of a princess? To Syaoran, the dream was all he had. He could simply keep the dream in a brown paper package, tie it up with string and hide it away under his pillow at night. Only he couldn't hold this package of paper within his hands, so what was he left with? The dream.
Stop.
Fastfoward. The sun had slipped under the horizon, and like clockwork, a transparent fisherman tossed out his line, hooked onto the moon and reeled it up into the sky. Li Syaoran sat nestled in the olden oak, watching as this scene played out. He never grew tired of it, despite its frequent occurrence. It's splendor enraptured; a silent screen play with only two actors on stage-and that was all it needed. No supporting actors, no crew, no directors. He found comfort in knowing the show was set on constant replay: each daybreak, each nightfall. At least he knew he could depend on something.
And her. Yes, he could always depend on her as well. Just like the fire in the sky, he could count on the fire in her eyes always being there. And her name. A name that somersaulted off the tongue, rolled off the lips and swam off into the air. Even after being whispered, it still lingered dancing in one's ear, the quiet melodic tune of: Sakura.
Pause. He was frustrated by her. He was a slave to tradition, a captive of his magic. She had only stumbled upon her gift, she hadn't made the sacrifices he had. But Syaoran was incapable of possessing malicious green envy for her, as most would have, but merely passed it off as "It's just not fair." However, he became to know the young princess' life had its share of curvy lines, twists and turns.
Play. She intrigued him. This princess carrying a pink-winged scepter, had fluttered into Syaoran's life uninvited. He didn't mind anymore. He came to the realization of why his palms would perspire, why his mouth run dry every time she was near; he realized he loved her.
And so, there sat Li Syaoran. Perched high on an oak tree branch, staring off into the night sky, a single tear rolling silently down his pale cheek, he dreamt of his princess.
Pause. A liquid diamond suspended in midair-dangling by a silver thread. It's facets melted into each other, creating a pinnacle at the summit and washing into a sphere below. It struck a withered oak leaf and dashed into miniature fragments. But to whom did this watery gem belong? Ask Li Syaoran, perched high above the ground upon the limb of a wintry oak tree.
Rewind. Crowned with threads of amber, an alluring princess drifted into Syaoran's view. She needn't own jewels: her crisp, emerald eyes were worth more than any stone. But that wasn't all that had captured Syaoran's gaze. Her hands-sleek as satin, adorned with long, graceful fingers. Some may say that the eyes are the windows to one's soul; however the hands are what performs the soul's work. A creature with hands as beautiful as the rest of one's self, is truly a well-rounded beauty.
She didn't have a royal court with subjects of all sorts, this princess. She had a dark haired girl with a video camera and a talking ball of fluff. She was a soldier; her own army, in fact-not many princesses hold bragging rights to that. Not many would call her a princess at all, but to Syaoran she was the definition of the title.
But what more can a pauper do than to dream of a princess? To Syaoran, the dream was all he had. He could simply keep the dream in a brown paper package, tie it up with string and hide it away under his pillow at night. Only he couldn't hold this package of paper within his hands, so what was he left with? The dream.
Stop.
Fastfoward. The sun had slipped under the horizon, and like clockwork, a transparent fisherman tossed out his line, hooked onto the moon and reeled it up into the sky. Li Syaoran sat nestled in the olden oak, watching as this scene played out. He never grew tired of it, despite its frequent occurrence. It's splendor enraptured; a silent screen play with only two actors on stage-and that was all it needed. No supporting actors, no crew, no directors. He found comfort in knowing the show was set on constant replay: each daybreak, each nightfall. At least he knew he could depend on something.
And her. Yes, he could always depend on her as well. Just like the fire in the sky, he could count on the fire in her eyes always being there. And her name. A name that somersaulted off the tongue, rolled off the lips and swam off into the air. Even after being whispered, it still lingered dancing in one's ear, the quiet melodic tune of: Sakura.
Pause. He was frustrated by her. He was a slave to tradition, a captive of his magic. She had only stumbled upon her gift, she hadn't made the sacrifices he had. But Syaoran was incapable of possessing malicious green envy for her, as most would have, but merely passed it off as "It's just not fair." However, he became to know the young princess' life had its share of curvy lines, twists and turns.
Play. She intrigued him. This princess carrying a pink-winged scepter, had fluttered into Syaoran's life uninvited. He didn't mind anymore. He came to the realization of why his palms would perspire, why his mouth run dry every time she was near; he realized he loved her.
And so, there sat Li Syaoran. Perched high on an oak tree branch, staring off into the night sky, a single tear rolling silently down his pale cheek, he dreamt of his princess.