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Colours whisper
Colours whisper

Colours whisper

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I will love you,
Like the sky,
Loves the birds,
With open hands,

Before this rising sun i'll be only a silhouette, yet as its rays, golden and powerful, touch my skin, i will be able to be every colour i am born to radiate. The deepest of them was like driftwood, another was the same hue as the sand, the blue was like the ocean on a cool autumn day. The sunrise is the warmest hues of the rainbow, the colours that bring a mild passion to the soul. It is the calling of the skies to rise and be something great.

My sadness, my fear. They were simply birds flying around my own head. At first, in knowing this, I felt alone, isolated within my mind. But, after a time, I knew it meant I was in control. The sad memories only existed in my head, they were like movies I could refuse to play then the "sadness bird" flew away.

When I was young, my mum would hold me up into the sky and with my arms out, I’d fly wherever she took me, like an airplane, piercing the air. Then at some point I got too heavy to fly and i fell down. Since then I have only been able to fly in my dreams, soaring across the vastness of the blue and through sunrises and sunsets. I’m now fifteen and I still believe that I can fly. I’ve wished for it so much it only has to come true. No one cares about the sky, whenever there's a sunset, nobody looks to admire it, but each night and morning I search for the sun, rising or falling into the sea. It’s a beauty that only I see and that’s why at some point I’ll be flying again.

The sand is softly golden with just the proper comforting warmth. To rest on the beach seems like a comfortable hug, one only matched by the sunshine filled sky. But it was time to go. I had to move somewhere else. I think the world has so many things to discover and it was time to experience something new. I like watching the stars at night and waking up super early to watch the sun, things that are always different because in life if you look hard enough you can find beauty in all things.

After every peak there's another, yet climbing is everything. With each stretch I reach higher; with each stride I'm stronger, I keep gaining a little more to carry me through the times of hardship. I feel the wind as a coldness teaching me to stay warm inside. I feel sharp rocks as a whisper to step lightly. Those times the clouds shower me with their icy love, I let it remind me of the tears I prevent by walking these ways and it makes me move all the faster. That's why I win, 'cause I change with the world and the thoughts and opinions of others to who I am.

My mind kept travelling in circles repeatedly coming back to the same thing again and again. The bird wasn’t free no matter how hard I tried to let it go, it kept coming back into captivity. I couldn’t stop thinking about that bird, the sweet melody of its original song completely lost on me to the sound of confusion bellowing in my ears.

I slowly start the descent, the wind ripping across the earth loosening the sand and soil into the sky around me. The sun was starting to take a toll and I could feel the rays burning into my skin, only a little further to go until I would be there.
The bird was singing again and I could hear the confusion. Past conversations keep arising in their loud voices and I can't help but sit down and shut my eyes. I had to embrace the bird before I could let it go without it returning. Things can be interpreted in so many different ways, peoples actions and what they say could come across so differently based on the situation it was just so confusing.

Because why would you say that you couldn't have anything in that way but then not mind having a conversation literally the next day and why would you lie saying that you wished we talked more often but you don’t really? I guess that was the problem when there are too many girls catching feelings for you, you have practice rejecting them in the easiest way possible. I knew I could never have him, he had someone else. He loves her. He wouldn’t move on, he couldn’t. She was a girl that he would take a bullet for.

I walked to the ocean, the bird clasped between my hands and let it go. It took flight lifting the heaviness of my emotions and confusion so that I was free again. Free.

I was one of the broken, yet through the art of creative writing, I healed and became a healer. Art does that too. It is the light that guides. It is the hand that awaits yours. It is the trail that you simply can walk every day until you discover that your soles became comfortable upon it. And during this way you build the simplest and brightest a part of you. You become a safe harbour for others, you show them how to become as well as you. Broken is temporary. It passes as the years pass.

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About The Author
About This Story
30 Sep, 2021
Read Time
4 mins
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4.0 (1 review)

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