Not every day is a good one. I learned that a long time ago.
The days when the words don’t come out right and the music doesn’t move us the way it usually does. When books are simply letters and the story means nothing.
When we remove the color from our life because it seems like a good idea.
Everything moves around us in a blur of black and white and we’ve got our sneakers glued to the ground. And at a point, you stop fighting it because you’ve long forgotten that you could have walked out of those sneakers and kept going.
And we’ve told ourselves that our only shield is a blanket with anchors on it and a cup of tea because it’s easier to hide away than to talk about what’s really wrong.
“I’m just tired.”
“It’s been a long week.”
“I have so much to do, that’s all.”
We allow every excuse in the book to escape our lips in an effort to conceal such a taboo illness. Because it’s not an illness if we pretend it doesn’t exist, right?
We’re waiting and hoping and trying to fight for the moment that we break the surface and take a breath of our color-clad world filled with stories and melodies that make us feel whole again.
But for today, I’ll wait for the color to come bursting back into my life while wrapped in a blanket sipping from a cup of tea and admiring how lovely my world looks in grey sometimes.
So until tomorrow,