Her touches are the colours of warmth,
The crispy shade of dried leaves,
Crackling under the steps of old souls,
The rough edges of red bricks,
Dust and dirt filling the gaps of familiar fingerprints,
The strokes of beauty on the wide canvas of the sky,
Moments before twilight,
When the sun for once is not painful to the eyes.
Her words are a range of soothing hues,
The fresh smell of newly mowed lawn,
The same that stains scarred knees,
The comfort in laying your head on the ground,
Ends of grass that tickles the exposed skin,
Between the torn hem of worn denim
And loose ankles, sprained too many times.
She is a pantone of strength and security,
Bright and scary like a series of thunders,
During the peak of a turmoiling storm,
Deep seas reflecting the image of the sky,
But also calming ombres that darkens towards the horizon,
I was fooled to believe that they are only separated by a fine line,
When they are dimensions that never meet.
This is my version of TaySwizzle’s Red or Halsey’s Colours, whichever genre you listen to.
Also, i think i might have tried too hard with this, as much as trying too hard can get at 6 in the morning with no sleep the previous night. I only hope I do not sound pretentious in this.