The sky is grey, not the melancholic, rainy grey. Its more like...colourless.
My poetry for pain and separation has lost its way.
They are the same feelings, bordering numbness
Is it because I knew the inevitable and was only hoping for unicorns to save me?
Is it because you never really believed in magic?
Or is because love went on a holiday and never returned?
I am not looking for answers.
I am not looking for hope
I am not afraid of accepting failure
I am looking for a new colorscape.
Somewhere I am looking for the piece of cloth
That I was making with all words, and colors and threads since I realized
Mills and Boons are bullshit
But lovestories are not.
Since I felt butterflies in the stomach
And realised its not a myth
From being angry at myself and then at you
I have come a long way.
I have learnt the not so cool art of not baring my soul
I have learnt to look the other way and hide the tears.
And pretend the good feeling of fall
I am disappointed in me
For making choices and trying to find the romantic story I believe in
I am disappointed in you
For being so a-sensitive (if thats even a word, maybe un-sensitive is)
I am looking for a way out, and now when I have found one
I am tired to to walk the 17 miles.
I dont know how you feel....
Relieved
Heartbroken
Indifferent
And that perhaps is something I can’t pretend to not see
All I wish(ed) for was to find, curate and put up art together
And maybe make our own.
The failure is, like most things, it remained just another fad that people do.
