Sta.sh
You've moved on but I remember those grey days,
ink scrawled onto worn, crumpled paper.
Words my escape, indifference my mask;
all were things I used to shove everything down.
I would keep shoving, too, until I choked on every last
one of these cruel, barbed words.
On days like this, writing seems not to be a talent,
but a curse, eating away at my soul as the bottle is sealed shut once more.
Just like those grim days which were cloudy and rainy,
I remember, quite clearly, the color that exploded from you.
Opposites attract, perhaps, but I had yearned for such brilliance:
a light in the dark, a color to disturb the grayscale.
I remember, too, the way we laid in twisted sheets, colored
red with our dishonesty, but not grey. not grey.
In those warm sheets we grasped at quivering fingers baring the same
callous and scars, as if that would make up for everything.
I accepted the bliss of ignorance so easily, and you soon followed.
I cherished you like nothing before:
you chased away grey hiding within my deepest corners,
which I erected for the purpose of protecting.
Three words from you—the ones my heart yearned to hear—and it all came down.
Everything.
My protection, then, became your arms,
able to support my world with a single flex of muscle.
They were strong, and promised safety with each trail your fingers traced.
My world, then, became your smile,
which brought to life furious heartbeats, calling to the surface
life and beauty.
Love was born from timid embers, fanned by tender affection,
until my fire burned so passionately for you that it
wilted the colorless scenery into nothing but vibrant sparks of destruction;
I was born anew, wiped clean,
but the good is only a temporary stillness in time,
and time always moves forward.
Now, submerged within a world of constant, flickering of color
I miss those grey days. There were only tints of black to which I could thrust
my focus upon. Those tints were expected, unchanging;
now everything is a blur, and trust can no longer be so easily bestowed to
sight…
because what these eyes see changes, and gives no room to breathe.
I miss those grey days.
Now all I'm left with is flickering colors,
each
one
a
constant
reminder
of
you.
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I think I was most fascinated with the effortless way you created and played out the influence of ignorance. The whole description was efficient and detailed (and while this will be a poor summary of the ordeal, it'll have to do); of ignorance leaving, of love consuming, and leaving confusion and discontent to rule. In a way it was ignorance that convinced the heart to embrace love; it didn’t know what life would be without it.
Wonderful work!