When the Sky Forgot Its Color

One morning,

the sky woke pale—

not white, not grey,

just… empty.

The trees stood like strangers

in their own skin,

leaves heavy with stillness,

as if the wind had forgotten

their names.

I searched for blue

the way you search for

a word on the tip of your tongue,

but the horizon only offered

a flat, tired sigh.

Even the moon,

once so certain in her silver,

hovered above me

like a dimmed coin,

her reflection

slipped from the lake’s grasp.

And in that colorless silence,

I felt myself dissolve—

a shadow without a shape,

a breath I couldn’t taste.

It is strange,

how the world mirrors the heart

when it no longer remembers

how to beat.