Red—the sweet embrace of summer sun-kissed skin,
orange is campfire heat against your hands whilst making smores.
Yellow? The feeling of your stomach jumping into your chest.
Green: the spirit of nature, pure as pine needles, or eucalyptus healing.
Blue is berated for tears that sting your eyes then stream sadly down your cheeks.
Indigo is the way winter nips our fingers
and magically transforms every breath we take to smoke.
Violet is the feeling of victory, but also the same hue as humble.
Then black is the beautiful serenity of the solitude we seek,
it is the comfort of the dark, the colour of rest, and the mystery of night.
White is...frankincense in chapels, or aromatic sage.
It is something sacred, that can even soothe the most unsettling of our thoughts.
Even without our eyesight, this world's vibrant colours can still be felt by our hearts.
With our remaining, heightened senses as our paintbrush,
life becomes the canvas of our souls.
Time stood still for nary a soul, it dragged its feet, aching and old. Blistering heat that made us melt, we were once softer than silk felt. Hallowed hearts wind whistled through, covered in bruises, black and blue. Hardly broken, but maybe bent, running on empty and love spent. There comes a day in all our lives, when our failures cut deep as knives. But you shall remain a triumph, you stayed with me, like a science. Words were whispered, curses, we'd shout, until the blood drained from our mouths. Yesterday—softer than silk felt; seems like all we do these days is yell.
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