Apple green and light blue. Simple colours that light me up. Brown wet hair blowing dry in winds and that sun warming everything up. It’s Sunday. That ball of light was up. I watched it the whole day, until it sank behind the trees I am not friends with
Sometimes, everything seems oddly at peace. We shut that mind that heart that conscience in us and for that moment everything is still. We close our eyes to everything we have done, all that we should’ve done and sit somewhere on the grass. Not trying to think. Not thinking. Not breathing. Not listening. Afraid that the tiniest of whispers would shatter it all. The mist would part and we’ll have to face it all. Face all that we left behind. Feel her still there. In the past. Near. But so far from the heart.
But how long will she stay. How long will she wait. How long will she break. One day, when the clouds will leave and the Sun will pour itself to light your blind eyes, you won’t find that friend there. World’s oldest story. No tracks. Not a single reminder of her existence. Even the words in your head will sound distant and blurred. A slight sting would remain, buried somewhere deep in you. A thorn buried deep in your flesh.
No matter what, son, The Sun will rise. It will rise from behind those trees, that, ah, just never became friends of mine.
Title: Quote by Khalil Gibran