[center][fancypost=background-color:;border:0px;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:8pt;line-height:1.4;]spring is here, and its getting hotter. not drastically so, but just enough that you're sweater has lost its use as a comfort item, instead being the source of your itchiness. the clothing had kept you warm throughout the winter but now that the season has passed it threatens to be your downfall, so you have to say goodbye— for the time being, anyway; its still got some sentimental value to you, and you'll need it in the near future, when winter swings by again.
you're sitting just outside your tent, the turtleneck splayed out before you. your paws trace the left sleeve of it, creep toward the shoulder and fiddle with the stitches there. stitches that are only a few months old, and triangle-shaped. you dont need to glance at your shoulder to know that your skin wears the same geometrical figure depicted on the sweaters arm, but out of habit you do so anyway. you have difficulty seeing it in all honesty, but your exploritive paws tell you alot; the brand is shallow but still a scar, and the handiwork was rushed, the lines that your fingertips manage to trace jagged. you bet the lines would have been a lot more smoother and neater if things had gone according to plan, but you never agreed to it. didnt agree to any of it actually, but then again you didnt really get much of a choice.
alright, enough trips down memory lane— most of it leaves you feeling sad or unnerved, anyway. you tuck the sleeves into the torso of the sweater, and then proceed to wad the sweater up; you're inaccurate definition of folding. setting it to the side, you stare out into the camp to observe the daily activities, feeling the warm winds comb out fur thats been tucked away half of the year, and is messy as a result.[fancypost=border-width:0; font-size: 8pt; text-align: center; line-height: 95%; width:400px;] ✧ —AND I WALK THE EMPTY HALLWAYS / [color=#FFF]TAGS