I am gray.
Today I am gray as sea mist
A scar on the breeze
It is not the anxious gray of an overbearing sky
Not the indifferent steel of a neglected inner landscape
No.
This gray is soft
It is kind, and wraps its way around my heart
This gray smooths the razor edges of my uneroded emotions
It tastes of lilacs.
I can roll along its length in safety
Washing up on a shore of peace
Unique in this gray that is kind and good
Unlike a sharpened edge of iron
I breath
Collect my color
And sweep away on an ocean of hues
About the Creator
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven2 days ago in Fiction
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