The color of sorrow is blue. It lives under the creases of your eyes, in words you left unsaid. It's what you feel when you board a train on a cold winter night but don't look back, when you're alone in your apartment covered in cold damp sheets and cry over all that you've lost. It's the color of the vein that throbs in your hand when you hold someone so tight. It's the color of sky, color of ocean. It's the color of everything you have to let go.
It's the color of foliage covering death-stained bones of someone you never knew. It's the color of leaves before they fall, it's the pulse of earth. If you mix blue and yellow, you get green. It's that love you feel when you first meet someone only to become a stranger. It's the beginning of another ending.
It's the color of fear, color of darkness. It's what you wear when you lose someone you can't replace. It's nothingness. It's the only color you can see with your eyes closed.
It's the color of blood, pain and love. It's the color you write history with. It's what stays with you when you want to forget. A color you can read on a man's face when you say ''no''
It's the color of happiness. It's the color of your favorite lullaby sung after victory. It's the laughter of clouds before they cover the sky. It's what Van Gogh ate for supper. It's the color of light, color of sun. It's what Icarus saw before burning to death.
I've been questioning my atheism lately. Maybe, mid-twenties can do that to you. Trying to find a purpose, a greater meaning, has always been the core of human evolution. All those memories and instincts buried deep inside our DNA, resurfaces sometimes. It's strange, even after all the logical reasoning and possibilities, how we find comfort in some prehistoric bunch of lies. We always had a thing for stories, right?
Our universe is 13.7 billion years old, from the big bang to this exact moment. One way to see it is the fact that the universe took 13.7 billion years to mold you into this existence. Or another way is, you're here now and you won't be here after a few more years.
You wake up You eat You go to work You talk to some strangers about your life Then you work again You go back home You eat You sleep
Maybe you'll fall in love, maybe fall out of love. get married to some stranger and die.
I feel like we are ghosts chained to these mundane laws, and that is why people try so hard to find a damn meaning to this sadistic life.
More people you talk to, the lonelier it gets. It gets harder to keep up with their stories. All of the favorite colors, songs, things that make them happy, or sad even the deep dark secrets they chose to tell you at two in the morning. About six years back, someone told me about how infinities are tiny little things that you often fail to see. It never made any sense to me at that time. But In this ever-changing world where you feel the urge to keep up with every damn thing, I guess it's making much more sense.
A friend of mine told me how she doesn't miss the part of herself that felt the need to explain herself to everyone. The need to say sorry when you don't text back or the need to explain why you left. Maybe it's all part of growing up Maybe it's the bad economy and politics putting pressure over your head Maybe it's alright when you leave people behind. After all, this messed up growing up bullshit, I think the relationships that always stay are the ones that you find in the early stage of life. Everyone else is just random strangers with an interesting story. That's the thing about stories, they end in full stops (most of the times).
this numbness that you feel at two in the morning, is the collective insomnia of everyone that looks for answers at the strangest times.
as the clock makes another sound, you're one step closer to an uncertainty. we search through the endless thoughts, for a definite answer to kill the pain, but it finds abode in the weakening heart.
of all the why's and the what's we couldn't figure out, I wonder how some colored pills found the right way to happiness
perhaps, we've become some ghosts chained to the mundane ways, getting rusted, decaying like the opaque buildings that we live in.