Gray

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I wish I was more eloquent with my words.

It would be so much easier if I were able to say the words and be understood. I’m not saying that I speak in large, convoluted words or that I’m confusing by default. I’m just saying that the simple requests would be clear, and the ideas expressed would be respected.

No. That’s too much to ask.

I’m not asking about little insignificant things. I’m asking for my heart to stop breaking and my tears to stop falling.

I wish that things were a simple black and white, not a terrible shade of gray.

Gray is not a color that I look good in. Gray is a color better suited for bitter winter mornings and rainy days. Better suited to my restlessness. Mi desasosiego. The sense of nothing being right in my heart because it does not understand my reality. The state of confusion that is slowly encompassing the day-to-day.

I’d give anything for clarity. Clarity, and strength.

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One thought on “Gray

  1. Things mix at the edges, we think—when we move from one to the next. We don’t always see this until we turn to go back. It’s then when we see the edge was only ever an illusion; when we see gray is the mix of moving between black and white.

    Here’s to clarity… clarity, and strength. [=

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