Grey.
There is no colour this week. Grey storms beat down, typing on grey keys, days going by in grey uniforms, in grey buildings. Darker days to come.
With everybody in grey moods, creating a grey atmosphere, I feel my own colour draining away. Bolts of slight luminescence across my skin can be seen if concentrated on long enough, the sheer shimmer of light that can be detected at precise and timely moments, just, sends a flicker of hope, until it gets consumed by a black mood, or black war.
I haven’t painted in a couple of days due to outside commitments, and I miss the boldness that shocks the paper of my sketchbooks to life, that makes me feel intertwined with the process of creation itself, and saves me from the grey. But this week, its been all too consuming, all too close, as if it could brush up against me, tarnishing my crisp, clean clothing, like its own twisted virus cloying to whatever it can take with it to depths unseen.
Grey.
