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The color of sadness

Breaking free of monotony

By Willow PhoenixPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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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

inspirational
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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.

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