Misted Thoughts

It's Difficult Being A Good Person

I just want to start this by saying, one, I love my photography and they are all going to get there way into almost every piece I write. Secondly, it's always amazing to be the good person, even if it's difficult. Just always try to cuz what goes around comes around.
Here it goes...

She had starlight silver hair, tainted green at just the corners. Her mouth did not always form the perfect smiles. She had yellow skin that glowed brighter in the Sun and she danced as if on rainbows.

He was grey. Every morning when he bathed in icy cold water that brushed his entire soul into something numb, a color found its way drained from his body, merging with the water. His hair was in the knots of perfect curls. His eyes gave the slightest hint of a sparkle but it died before being born. His hands had roamed to places where extinguished candles lay. His legs gave way to a body, a body too heavy to carry on and sometimes too light to breathe through.

When I fell for him, I thought I could be his pallette. Make him a new world. Paint him a new color. Breathe life into the dead.
I did manage to for a long time. But it was she who made him dance like he was born to.

She didn't just paint him yellow, she marked him hers in gold so that even when the Sun came up, he would glow brighter than her. Her crimson lips smiled to mark his neck as her first trophy and every other fibre in his being moved just to be on her wall of fame.

His grey turned to white every morning. And till the night, she would paint him in every color with every breath she took, every word she spoke. His straight face went into her straight hair to sniff into, hold onto the feeling of being completely hers. They would hold each other when the painting fell apart and bring up another piece together.

I loved him with all my heart. I had spent nights dreaming his hands on my waist and his cheek into my curls. His little teasings becoming my laughter. His sorrow would have been mine to heal, mine to conceal into a broken heart. I would dance with him when he wanted my hand. And i would sing for him when his tired head fell asleep.
I dreamt of all the perfect places to go to make the perfect memories, collect them as relics in my phone card and long to relive them again.

But I know she was the life that helped him live. She would be the one to hold your hand in every dance. And i promised to stay in touch before giving the grey skies a color of his choice.