The evolution of perspective, the chronicling of journeys, and a series of overwhelming thoughts.

a view, blue

A view, blue

A deep dark blue verging on, but not quite black.

No comfort.

No calm. Instead it is disfigure, deformed, defective

Shards that render minds into hate.

It unravels, a deep twine, twisting, whirling,

wrapping itself mercilessly constricting the memories of other hues.

 

If only we were to think.

If only we were to imagine past the perpetuation of dark.

If only we were to stop memorializing magenta and mauve and maroon and the ever so frail mint.

We worshipped yellow. We remembered the sun and we loved her just a brightly because… 

 

To dance among confetti of the deepest blue is to be content with silent sonance. 

 

Olivia GreenComment