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blue, like a sea, you've fancied yourself into a tight container of celosias and fuschias clinging to a strand of hair that has fallen in a deep slumber. what if you — 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘦? when a cellar tingles through a hypothermic vein, your tongue melts into 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘶 𝘥'𝘢𝘶𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘯𝘦 and then you claw the dew droplets crystallized and roll the blues under your tongue. what if they taste sour like strawberries, but are so breathtaking, you can't help crying for them so even Poseidon is jealous? what if it's just an indigestible color when stripped bare? you sit under the staircase & delete its number. then it's just 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘦.
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a/n: check out my new book please if you'd like!! :)
