If Aeroplanes Were Shooting Stars
Description
He could remember the first time they’d met. It was the month of February and the weather had been positively dreadful. He could remember the way the rain fell in heavy sheets, drenching his clothes and his hair and his bag as he tried to hurry to the studio. He’d been a dancer – although he preferred to call himself an artiste – and he had more than convinced himself that there was nothing else he’d rather be. He could remember the way he’d brushed past him, not knowing how little it took for two lives to become completely entwined and woven together in a way that it felt as though one would be incomplete without the other’s existence.
Foreword
:| I'm just moving most of my writings from Livejournal to...well, here, so that I have an idea of what I've written and blah, blah, and just have everything in one place. So. Yes. Okay. =n=
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