My favorite color is blue, it has always been. Did anyone try to explain before, why they love a certain color so much? Now I can see how words let you down when it comes to it…I just enjoy the impact of the blue on my spirit through my eyes and mind.
But what’s the deal about? What if the spirit, the mind or the soul is really the easiest to trick? Why would I react differently to a color from another? Or to a scenery from another? You walk through a glowing spring garden and feel inspired and lifted, you walk through dirt and feel disgusted to the guts. Can anyone explain this to me?
Sometimes when my hopes are fly-high above the clouds after watching a happy ending movie, god I hate going back to the middle of my own story and its blurry clouded ending. True you only appreciate what you had only when you lose it, but you also feel sick and hurt to the bones, when you see how more bright and colorful your life could’ve been…at some point I hate colors, blue turns out to be my favorite hated color.
There is this man starring from a cliff down at the waterfalls, in inspire thinking he got his mind clear, and able to make a major decision, enlightened by the bright sparkles of optimism flying from the waterfalls landing on the leaves near his shoes. Coming years after to the same spot, on the same time of the day at the same season of the year, to dive into the same scenery, but the man is now blind, literally.
How did he become blind? A chain of decisions made from the first day he came to the edge of the cliff, led him to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, to stand right in front of the accident that did cost him his sight, and his mind peace. Looking at the same scenery thinking that he got his mind clear now, he feels no more blinded by the bright sparkles of optimism flying from the waterfalls landing on the leaves near his shoes that he can’t see no more…swimming lonely in a cold pool of darkness, whispering to his mind, that no sight could possibly be the truest sight, and darkness is possibly the less harmful and blinding light.
He is a man with nothing to lose but his mind, And he doesn’t seem to mind losing the same mind that turned every single daydream to a nightmare since then, is he crazy? Or is it just the impact of the constant black color, on his soul and spirit and mind, since black is just a color like the others? And it can blind or enlighten the mind just like any other color would? True you only appreciate what you had only when you lose it, but you also feel sick and hurt to the bones, when you see how more bright and colorful your life could’ve been…at some point he misses colors. Now any other color than black is his favorite color.
The blind man knows he will live an endless sadness if he keeps his happiness dependent on colors and light, but the blind man knows he can now find happiness in anything else. In the warmth of the first sunrays of a new day gently caressing his skin, in the singing of the morning birds sneaking through his window to whisper in the back of his mind and wake him up to a new day. A new day is a new way, Crying is something we were born with, but laughing is something we had to learn along the way.