"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves."
Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...
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"the blues"
melancholy and jazz had a baby. I never saw the beauty in it until I saw her for the second time.
Red was having a party, and it was the usual shit. There were drinks and music, grinding bodies and the search for a good time. It was nothing I wasn't used to. Honestly, it was quite redundant— the whole lifestyle. Parties and weed and liquor and casual situationships. It was old, but it was familiar. . . and I was a man that appreciated what was routine so long as it wasn't nauseously overdone. Although this lifestyle was getting dangerously close to that line of being sickening, it was the only thing that I really knew.
All I kept thinking as I roamed the party aimlessly is how I should've kept my ass at the crib. My social battery was running low, and my patience was running thin. The only thing keeping me here was the weed. Red had come up on some new shit, straight from California. How it got to New York— I was in no suitable mental state to even think about the logistics, but it was making the rambunctious and crowded home a lot more tolerable.
Each room was a different color— Red had a thing for aesthetic, especially when it came to his own home.
The dancefloor, which was really just the living room that lacked its usual furniture and incandescent lighting, was blue. The lighting only reminded me of how we all look under moonlight— the shit's beautiful. Despite the raunchy dancing taking place in the Blue Room, it looked like living art. It resembled a painting that would soon be in black households for generations to come, much like Sugar Shack by Ernie Barnes. Watching all different shades of black transform once it entered the cool color was an experience. Brown skin turned into a dodger blue while yellow-bones turned a celeste or a periwinkle color. . .
However, she was an oxford blue— damn near navy. She stood out even in the pitch black abyss that coated those who weren't granted access to the blue lighting. Although her beautiful skin appeared navy, the inner corners of her eyes and the tip of her nose were a shimmering silver. Her plump lips caught the elaborate lighting just as her dark pupils had. Blue was an interesting color on her. I loved how such dark and unflattering lighting for the usual person could sink into her features while also bouncing off of her. It only emphasized how beautiful she was and how easy it was to fall in love with her. Even one of the saddest colors could find solace in her.
She was the only one that wasn't partaking in the festivities happening on the dance floor, but I could tell that she wanted to. She just needed the right song. I could also tell that she felt me staring at her— she just couldn't tell where the anonymous gaze was stemming from.
I'm gonna' be completely honest. I was high as the sky, sittin' on clouds, looking down at her while birds swirled around my head. Seeing her in blue, lookin' like the goddess that could erase all my troubles while also getting me into more trouble, had me in a trance that I had never been in. She had a pull on me, and I didn't realize that it was gravitational until my feet were dragging themselves in her direction.
