Gris
A colossal bucket of grey paint has been poured over this city. Sky, clouds, buildings, roads, sidewalks, squares, none have managed to escape.
Raindrops clatter against the windows, gathering and rushing down like miniature waterfalls. Cars driving by, homeless people shouting in an alien language and the sound of gunshots are the only sources of noise disrupting the majestic sound of silence.
This grey city makes the cold creep into my bones. These cloudy skies cover my mind in a thick mist. I equal Atlas regarding consequences, but I have made a decision that is eligible for reconsideration.
Leaving my short term comfort zone seemed like a wise choice, until I actually did. Now I’m standing here: one foot on the balcony, one foot in the magnet tar pit trap.
I consider attempting to turn back the hands of time, but I know I can’t. I’d love to travel further and explore the world, but my deteriorating health is complicating these first world problems of mine.
I nod and sigh. I admit that I am not doing fine over here. There is too much artificial comfort flowing through my veins. There is too much of the depressing outside leaking in, seeping through the cracks in my skull.
The options present themselves. Buying a ticket to the wicked mental carnaval and spin around in the broken ferris wheel, or grab a pack of crayons and colour this grey sky blue.
I am tempted to choose the first, to take the easy route. Tempted, not convinced. However, I could do without the forced optimism and motivation for a day as well. I could do without it, but I won’t.
I delete the number that can provide me with the white that can make my wrongs seem right and turn every dark thought into black ink. Not knowing which decision to make, I’ll write.
With a sigh and a spine made of titanium I open the set of crayons and start adding colour to the world. Orange buildings, the clouds turn gold, the horizon becomes a silver living. “Fuck it,” I mumble, and even draw a smiley on the sun.
The wandering anchor man would have loved to put his middle finger up to rainbows and sunshine today. But how will tomorrow be better if today doesn’t receive any appreciation?
I get out of the foetal position, climb from the gutter and break the mirror showing today’s reflection. Leaving grief behind, vowing to step forward.
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