Rhymes & Reasons

Chapter 141:

12.25.24

Every single shade of sky talks to me in different tones, carrying prismatic emotions. Some days, when it's nestled between purple hues and soft, warm amber tincture, I would often end up thinking about my utmost dreams, its embellished grandeur, and the rarity of its nature, yet unspoken, restrained, strangled by the mishaps of life.

How I laid them bare once, for all to see until the masses told me I wouldn't make it. Now, I store them beneath my feet, bury them inside my chest, and relived them in a distant, far-fetched memory as I watch the vast purple sky in deep contemplation of how I messed up my life.

At late afternoons, when it hides behind the cone-shaped mountains, and reflects an earthy, melancholic flush against the once radiant mise-en-scène, I would often dismantle the strong facade I wore all day, unzip my pretenses and lull my crowded head to a muffling place of isolation and belongingness, and only then I'd feel liberated from the mundanes of life while wreathed by the peculiar comfort of sadness.

There are also days, when it's devoid of variant glows and hues, reflecting silvery, monochromatic shades of gray, I would often hear the screams of unloaded burdens, telling me prosaic stories of survival, and how one loses sanity for love and passion; something my naive self can't fully discern, and underneath the roof of the crepuscular, ashen sky, I could only just perplexedly ponder in continuation.

And yet most days, when it's cerulean, bright and blue, I would often hear the endless cheers of hope, joy, and love; as it speaks of reasons why I should not linger longer on the days that had already slipped in my palms, but rather to embrace a fresh start, a new beginning, and roseating tomorrows.

—georginariver