One

"sunset"

The sky will always be my canvas and my reflection, the sanctuary I've idolized for as long as I've known

Baby blue - Luke Hemmings

Landry
The flames spoke to him in Italian cursive, he kept quiet, stunned by the fact that the fire could actually talk. He had an obsession with hot water and antiseptics. He enjoyed stealing cars. The last one he stole was a cream corvette with silver trimmings. Even though he didn't have a backstory, he often dreamt of many. They were vivid, as though they were his. Though most were nightmares, he buckled himself into the chairs seatbelt and chased his nightmares. Freely, as though time was nothing but a concept.  A noose designed to keep the foolish in check.

Most people run from their pasts, but how deeply Landry yearned to go back to his was unexplainable. He imagined himself at nineteen, if he was ever nineteen. A conveyor belt of hidden identities that confessed that they only said he once was. Now he was just an empty vessel of let's pretend. An empty vessel of, I don't know how to be myself anymore and if it was my choice, I'd be alive yesterday. 

It's a blessing not to have to work for your identity daily. It's a blessing to not have to play the we're in this alone game with your own reflection. He stopped the car abruptly. Then took out his book of recycled paper, and wrote out his lies. Since it was his birthday there was a need for him to be bound by the truth anymore. He was oddly optimistic. As if he didn't chase a stolen future fabricated by delusion and propelled by a fear of failure. 

Tomorrow is my new year's day. I need to establish a couple things before I turn 19. If I ever get to repatriate what's left after buying my car, which I have to search for on Facebook, I'll need to be serious about my public relations. Meat is out of the picture forever, plus I don't want a birthday cake. I'm strangely excited to be turning 19, plus I have a good feeling about what's left of my year.

my goal in life was to become someone that was valued more emotionally than monetarily. Though I'm only a chef, I have everything I need to build a life of honesty and balance. So cheers to a new day of happiness and of peace. 

The only thing wrong to me, was you and your issue with me not being able to stop with the creativity.

He hated the fact that no matter how happy he was he argued with himself.

The river he enjoyed driving to was like an endless sheet of black. A sheet of, don't worry, you can always fall on me and expect nothing but coldness. A sheet of, don't you want to feel alive?

My body, my truth.

Despite all the assumptions I was sure that nothing happened to me. I had a plan to keep going even when my destiny looked dark. Landry blinked twice as his thoughts became tangible. Like pieces of tool, destined to let whatever pieces of life, the sun, out. All that I knew was that the love I felt for you was boundless, like my sky. The beginning of my madness only started when we approached our end, our beginning,  the horizon as we know it. The classic background of salmon to ochre, cirrus wisps of white with dollops of garnet in some spots. Think of it as a girlified version of the starry sky by Van Gogh. Landry's muse, or should I say reflection.

To Brionny however, every body of water represented death. She ran away from reflections yet searched for herself in movies and other forms of media. She was like white. A mixture of everything that remained pure, sweet like rain that had been left out in the sun. Which was quite enigmatic, like her dressing sense. She wore nothing but denims and torn up, makeshift crop tops, held together with dressing pins. With a