fever pitch

*Poser* · (This post was last modified: 11-26-2016, 02:14 PM by Poser.)

Things are warm here, warmer than they should be. He's only just returned from the wintry atmosphere of Boreas, taking the early summer breezes by storm as he wanders through the oaks. What a strange place this is. What a strange place it would be. Poser loves it. He loves this place, and that's why he calls it home. Head high, romping among the trees. His tail wags. Everything leaves him feeling bright.

Feeling. What a weird concept that was. He felt far more than he had in what felt like... well... it had to have been ages. Really, Poser had such a hard time coping lately. It was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do-- keep living. Dying was easy, living was harder. Yet the shadow hadn't given up. A beacon of hope to his own damn self. That was the only way to do things like this. Pull your shit together, cowboy up, and move on. Right? Supposedly.

Moving through the ancient oaks, he's exploring. There's something about the afternoon sunlight scattering the dusk, something beautiful. Poser is never not beautiful, and golden hour sits around his shoulders like a warm coat. What a lovely existence today was.
your charged touch
poser
breathy way of saying my name

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