I say my forest, but it was only one tree. Pathetic it seems, for me to keep referencing such an insignificant part of this story, but is it really? That may have been who you were, but my idea of pathetic was barely a parallel.
I could insult myself and you'd write a novel about it. This is particularly strange, considering the words you speak display very little significance to anyone except you. They get lost in the wind, just as the fader did. Unfortunately, you cannot fade just yet, that's not your purpose in my mind. I have no idea what your role is, but the fact that your smile is still intact reinforces my fantasy.
Calling it a fantasy gives such an artistic and pink solution. Princesses, content, the necessary components of a happy ending.
Happy endings are false.
Being happy is false in general, there are too many colors to pick from. When you are blue, purple gets jealous and molds to become red. But red is never accepted by society, so yellow tries to repair the damage that has been splayed on the sidewalk. By this time, the pain has run into the cracks and drains in the street, painting the ground as a fantastic rainbow. Is it truly as beautiful as we give it credit for?
Tears bring on the color.
TEAR: noun, the state or action of crying
What an interesting connection: clear liquid brings on infinite color streams. In a way, colors cry in their own way, just relating to different sides of regret. Perhaps I see the negative in such a joyous concept because it is so foreign and unattainable. A rainbow, we capture them and hold them in jars, draining the very life they hold. I view that as cruel, why should we be capable of such inhumane acts? A rainbow is a rainbow, the cloud a creature, the rain a somber song.
In retrospect, you were the cloud that brought these variables to the table. The grey clouds that cast a shadow over my shoes, stained with impatience and discomfort. The clouds that cried when you first appeared, inevitably the same when you left. But did you ever truly leave? I don't have an answer to that, because if you were gone, why does everything remind me of you?
YOU ARE READING
Colors Behind the Glass ✓
Poetry[COMPLETED] Lonnie has been through several life-changing events. The most impactful is the death of their abuelita and the loss of someone close to them as they came out as non-binary. They have struggled with coming to terms with these two facts...
