The color of sadness
Breaking free of monotony
She smelled like purple in the rain
Of sadness and mystery
Her countenance like the shadowed eaves of the abandoned house, only remembered by time
Time taking its toll, the patchy spots of her skin her own peeling paint, the strands of grey her own broken shingles, arthritic joints her own creaking hinges
She hasn’t always been this way
She remembers a time she was turquoise in sunshine, bright raindrops in a sunny sky
Sparking eyes, fire flakes, to match a temper as hot
Yet also, cool green water, as she would stoop to rescue a worm from the sidewalk in the wake of spring floods (from the worm’s perspective at least), or as she plucked a flower and tucked it among walnut strands
The memory brings a smile to her face
A bright wave of magenta bright across the sky, rebirth, the potential is there
Silver strands whipped back, the fire flakes alight, she dives into the unknown
If all but time has forgotten, the eyes of time are blind, freed of the shackles of youth, her fire breaking free, she rises
About the Creator
Willow Phoenix
If my path has been conventional, then I think convention must be redefined, but perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Self identifying as agender and an artist and the rest not withstanding, now based out of Seattle, hi, I’m Willow.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.