Colours of a Sunset

Part 1

Part 1

I don’t even know, but I can’t say I don’t even care about the way summer looks, or how it feels. The ache, the belief, realization and hearing that summer is probably the most beautiful season throughout the year because that’s when school’s have ended, people are out.

I’ve never seen a sunset in my life. I don’t even know the difference between the light and between the dark, what is black or what is white. I’ll never know but I’m dying to.

My brother used to tell me about the colours all the time, the colours of the rainbow, the colours on the colour wheel, because he likes to paint. A lot. Dad says he likes to paint me, mostly because I have an unusual style of dressing and it clashes against the scene behind me.

And once the painting dried up, he’d let me feel the smooth canvas, paint rubbing over with smalls bumps and hills and I could feel almost every line, every piece of detail there is to the thick acrylic paint.

He also used to tell me Dad liked to paint too, he’d draw almost everything he saw and wouldn’t leave his art studio for days at a time, and Mum would have to walk down and give him breakfast, lunch and dinner to keep him going.

Sometimes, I like to imagine these things, imagine how my mother would have looked, how many wrinkles there possibly could be on my father’s face or the colour in my brother’s eyes. I’ve been told that I have grey eyes, the colour of grey swimming in a mystic cloud motion, kind of like smoke. Hence the title ‘smokey grey eyes.’