Apricots
Send me a title and I’ll write you a story
It looked like a field that was covered in snow in mid spring when looked over by the hill where the mansion resided, and it was the woman’s most favorite time of the year. She could spend hours, even days, sitting on the marble railing of the terrace in her room, her legs dangling in the air and swinging slightly with the spring breeze lashing around them like an invisible rope, leaving cool sensation over her skin; her azure eyes fixed on the white field, even when her raven black hair came in the way of her vision (a prank the wind loved to play on her to annoy her). It calmed her down, and placed a permanent smile on her lips involuntary, and no one understood why, and she couldn’t explain them either.
The view of it. The way the white petals swayed and made the white ‘snow’ move like the waves of the ocean. It was like all seasons merged into one in that one view, and the beauty of that alone couldn’t be explained.
"What do you like so much about those cherries?" her brother would ask her often, like now, his frame resting it’s weight on his hands, who took support in the railing next to her.
"Apricots." she would correct him with an offended tone, like he had just mistook her name after years of living together, her lips would twist into a frown, but her eyes won’t stray from them. "They are apricots, not cherries."
