"You said, no you sang, you sang that everything was gonna be alright. You said that we'll be alright, Harry. But did you mean that?"
Where Belle Olivia Granger encounters five young boys who happen to be in the biggest boyband on the planet, and sh...
Darkness seems to harness our small little blue and green planet, warping the brilliant colors of our rainbow into nothing more than black and white fueled hatred for each other. As more time passes, the little things become harder to appreciate as the larger issues seem to overtake everything, turning parents against their children and husband and wife against each other.
In a darkening whirlwind of death, illness not seen since the dark ages, hatred for one's own neighbors, and too many injustices to count, the beauty in this world is hard to find anymore.
The magic is fading, but only if you let it.
Sometimes all it takes is one step back, or maybe all it takes is one thing in your life to change so drastically that you have no other choice but to stop and smell the roses.
The colors in my rainbow aren't vanishing- they're bleeding together to show me the most vibrant universe that I've always lived in but have been too blind to truly see.
Vibrant red washes over the various rose bushes that I've spent months planting and tending to in the back garden of the house I now call home in the Amalfi Coast- home being one of the normal things most people have but I swore I never did. I've never felt at home in London, and I've always hated anytime I've been stuck in Los Angeles, but for once I feel like I've found the one thing I've secretly desired. I've found a place to call home, and the constant backsplash of the cherry colors warm my beating heart as they remind me of my favorite pair of lips.
The same pair of lips my little Jane has.
Orange hues swirl through the skies in the form of butterfly wings and sunbeams, more sprightly than ever in the autumn months. However, I can always see the burnt color in my own peripheral vision thanks to the spry curls that hang loosely on my forehead, the very same chestnut color illuminating with bronze strands underneath the robin's egg sky on the head of own little butterfly.
Although she's only just eight months old, Jane is already proving that her curls will grow out to be even more unruly than mine.
Every evening when the sun who swirls with not only orange but honey yellow begins to set, the constant blue skies transform into my favorite time of day to do almost anything. During golden hour when the world becomes a wick that burns beneath a flame, everything we know to be plainly blue and green is lit ablaze to form a raging fire with so much serenity behind the power that every small detail we as humans overlook become amplified.
