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‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - ♡ - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
Sometimes we wonder what the fuck is wrong with us, going from the subtly questions to deep shit we never asked to learn. Yet life gave away when it came crashing down our eyes, painting the area into a fabulous array of unfavorable morale to paint our skies a mysterious gray, hoping, reaching an uncertain future that one day. Someone, something will paint it a stunning blue, royalty red, or even a bright yellow for us. To keep ourselves smiling. To keep the living child a gain of life after they've shunned away for many centuries of self-hatred and divorce.
It's best to confront the past, but without acknowledgment of what. What was there to question in the end? No one came and asked, "Hey, what's actually wrong?" No soft tone, no comfort, a foreign magical word people would die for; a dancing flower can mark an end and a childish wonder. You have to know which is which, your end? Or your kid? People can misconcep that with many things, forgetting they, themselves, were once a child growing up and blocked from anything they could hope for; easy to break.
"But even then," we carry our hopes in a dazzling wonder of dark and black, painting the future into a rainbow parade, doing anything to keep that colour shining through our high and low, singing songs of pure comfort and destruction to all. Hops and hops of everything going around, the blue sky went away, giving off the dark hue to cover another night till next morning, bouncing and bouncing when the cries and discomfort of the greenery sweat in exhaustion. Low energy and stamina, they looked at the glazing morns, holding his pounding heart from the bottom out, smiling brightly to make the blind see again.
