《Poet In Paris》Prologue

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The rose flowers are all so beautiful, enchanting almost they call out to him. The poet. He adores anything celestial and flowers are nothing less than that. The ravishing radiance of each different flower, the petals and the blooming stems. Nature, it has a unique way of portraying beauty and that is exactly what calls out to him gets his mind rushing with a sumptuous amount of heart-racing ideas. The way he collects thoughts and words and pieces them together, looks so easy but it is a splendid talent.

He likes to keep to himself, very quiet and reserved though his mind is an expanding universe of chaotic but artistic words and purposes he enjoys staying inside in the warmth. His ideas flourish from almost anything stellar around him, the mere sight of a cup could enhance an idea floating around in his mind.

Feelings, he takes them very seriously at most the feelings might not be his but he observes and likes to use people around him. Facial expressions and body language says an awful lot about a way a person is feeling and he uses that to magnify the roaming thoughts in his mind.

He does not have many friends as he believes friendship is not what he needs. He is very passionate about his poetry, trying not to make big in the world but to let people know his words and his ideas, his skills and his enjoyment. He chose this because it is his passion and his life.

Love, he has never first handedly felt it for someone other than his family. He has never uttered the three words and eight letters to someone outside his family. He doesn't need love, he needs to see others love to write. He believes not everything in a poet's life has to be experienced first handedly. He is most capable of using his surroundings and the people to come up with a finished captivating piece of poetry able to reel all around him in.

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He lowers his viridescent green eyes and locks them on to the red petals of the roses.

He stands watching ahead with his emerald eyes fixated on the red rose his mind running with a magnificent amount of ideas all itching to be written down. The wind picking up it's pace blowing each petal he seems to be mesmerized by it all, the beauty of nature.

"Isn't it a bit too cold to be out right now?" A sweet melodic voice whispers barely audible but he catches it. Turning his head to the side, eyes land on an angel her hair so soft and her lips so kissable. Her body clad in a black dress, goosebumps from the harsh winds appearing on her soft skin.

"I could ask you the same thing." He retaliates in a hushed tone turning back around to face the roses. Silently she walks and stands beside him both eyes watching the rose petals move from the rushing winds, her hair flying in all directions.

Almost sneakily he turns his head slightly to the side, eyes landing upon her alluring beauty. His mind erupting in a million thoughts.

He's found his inspiration.

He's found his muse.

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