Pale blue swirls of melancholy hold me.
Who would have thought that sadness could be buoyant?
My spirit reads like an emotional campaign.
Defeat comes only with combat and I have no passion left for battle.
I am weary.
I find respite in these blue swirls.
I flow with them, allow them to carry me where they may go.
I am spent from swimming against the current,
from treading water in a bid for air and understanding.
With pain and angels intertwined I descend below the surface
and trust that I am one with it all.
That for a moment, I can NOT be.
That I am whitewashed walls in a land with no light,
air within a vacuum.
That I cannot be empty for the receptacle is a fallacy.
This is it.
Pale blue swirls of buoyant melancholy.
