Raz
Bluelighter
Grey is the color it rains in Central Place.
As I peer skyward, I see each individual drop a gossamer dollop of grey against an overcast grey sky, contrasted by the ravine of darker grey buildings, their impractical grey balconies daring residents to reach out and touch across the sea of noise and fashion and art and passion that teem below, and it's why grey is the most romantic color in the world.
Because grey is the color it rains in Central Place.
Grey is the canvas that every artist is drawn to, painted to, attracted to with spraycans and charcoal and pens and paper. Grey says you are not alone and you are in the company of people who have lived here, loved here, vented anger and grief in raw strokes of emotion, held one another and whispered things so sublime that their words found release from even the thickest soul, and grey is the stain their hearts left on the world, and grey is the sea which supports you, immerses you, nurtures you. Grey is not an aspiration, an inspiration, it's not the color of the void but the proof we yearn to escape that void. Grey is the color of experience, of humanity, of the cornerstone of every foundation of every thought and feeling which sways toward the unachievable like a sunflower in supplication to its most treasured ideal.
Grey is the color it rains in Central Place.
As I peer skyward, I see each individual drop a gossamer dollop of grey against an overcast grey sky, contrasted by the ravine of darker grey buildings, their impractical grey balconies daring residents to reach out and touch across the sea of noise and fashion and art and passion that teem below, and it's why grey is the most romantic color in the world.
Because grey is the color it rains in Central Place.
Grey is the canvas that every artist is drawn to, painted to, attracted to with spraycans and charcoal and pens and paper. Grey says you are not alone and you are in the company of people who have lived here, loved here, vented anger and grief in raw strokes of emotion, held one another and whispered things so sublime that their words found release from even the thickest soul, and grey is the stain their hearts left on the world, and grey is the sea which supports you, immerses you, nurtures you. Grey is not an aspiration, an inspiration, it's not the color of the void but the proof we yearn to escape that void. Grey is the color of experience, of humanity, of the cornerstone of every foundation of every thought and feeling which sways toward the unachievable like a sunflower in supplication to its most treasured ideal.
Grey is the color it rains in Central Place.
