The wind rustles the lifeless leaves on the dry earth floor.
Dark and bleak, is this world he had never been introduced to.
He sees the ground rumble from his heartbeat for it is the only sound.
There is no noise to reach the ears, his ears the only ones there.

Alone, a barren field filled with the remnants of rotting plants
the traces of death
entangling the frozen wasteland before him.
He calls out in hopes for another to hear him,
listens although he knows a reply will never come.

He sits on the ground in an odd tranquility, breathes the cold air into his lungs,
and dark eyes scan the shadowy horizon, burgundy lips mutter silent words to himself.
His mind becoming unison with this world
as he follows the wind's path by a dehydrated weed's motion, pursuing it to discover a broken road.
Vines ensnaring the colorless bricks, cracks and lashes across their surfaces.
Cool to the touch, silent under his feet, he walks for hours, then runs, sprinting far ahead but getting nowhere, trying desperately to escape this uncanny solitude.

And then'.

A figure with a slender silhouette, graceful and beautiful, a woman, emerges from the depths of darkness where the mere trace of light fears to tread.
As she takes small steps, light and airy, a scent trailing behind her, a sweet smell of honey, fills his nostrils.

He peers behind her, and sees the florae awakening, beautiful colors decorating a world of black and white.
A sky becomes painted blue, the frozen earth, soft and anew, trees standing tall, birds singing mellow songs.
Like a sketched portrait splashed with the colors of an artist's palette.
The woman approaching, gazing with crystal eyes, into his fragile heart, which beats with accelerating speed.
Skin, pale and light like a seraph descended from heaven, a rosy pink shade was that of the soft apples of her cheeks.
A silk white dress flowing and folding this way and that, tumbling down to her perfect delicate feet, bare and unmarked by the malleable brown below them.
Her lips, smooth as the rose's pedal and equally red, parting to reveal porcelain teeth.

He takes in the image, this angel standing before him,
and he touches her face,
giving a silent thank you for restoring the beauty of this desolate nightmare that is the metaphor of his life.
He leans in and kisses the lips of an enchantress who fills his body with life,
revives abandoned joy, and stirs a passion in him that he had not realized before.
She, with all her radiance, could promise that the memories and the presence of this world would be lost,
like the sun is lost in the clouds of a storm, shrouded, and no longer visible, yet still somehow there, lurking behind'

This is why he loves her