Winged Helicopter Seeds

The first man my heart moved for carried the untamed radiance of summer - his initial presence, to the untrained eye, felt like warmth captured in skin - or maybe it was more like the smell of sunshine on fresh sheets. It wasn't just a scent - it was a feeling. Like the way the air carries the promise of adventure on a long summer evening - effortlessly free. It was familiarity and wildness all at once, something you wanted to chase but also bask in - as if holding on too tightly might make it slip through your fingers like the last light of day. He carried the aura of a spontaneous long road trip - windows down, with the air dancing recklessly through your hair, and music blasting through the sunset air. Just living in the moment because tomorrow feels too far away to worry about.

Yet, beneath all the brightness, his soul felt more like autumn - there was something poetic about the way he carried both warmth and transience - and with it, a kind of gentle melancholy, as if he carried the weight of all the wisdom and stories the wind had whispered to him. Even with few words, his mind danced like a sky filled with winged helicopter seeds. Yet, his presence was quiet and knowing - radiant yet subdued, like golden light filtering through amber leaves. He carried a warmth that wasn't overbearing but lingered in the way he listened and in the depth of his gaze. He moved through the world with a deep introspective awareness of both beauty and impermanence, savouring moments because he understood their fleeting nature - perhaps this is why he viewed the world through the lens of meaning.