caLl iT haBiTLet's define blueSwampy, murky, tinted at theedges of the clouds, deeply-coatedWithin the lining of my soul.Blue is the sparkling lightwithin the eyes of a wizened genius, advisingThe young ones before the sloshing tyrantof a rising sea, intent on vengeanceExtinguishes it forever.Blue is the phantom rose, blooming soSecretly in its own corner of thesmall garden, before the petals turn to iceand flicker out, crackling like starched clothingOn the body of a corpse.Blue is the rain slapping my shoulders asI walk, like a gentle friend, I'muse to it by now, and the chill, smellingof pure water, blue-white on myE
It's a funny thing...It's a funny thing, to know exactly who you'll be in ten years but not a clue who you'll be tomorrow.The woman sits on a curb, tugging a cloak about her body, hiding herself from the chill of the air. Her hair blows out behind her, catching snowflakes on the strands that seem to wind themselves around in the air like autumn leaves catching on updrafts. Washed-out scarlet blends with brown as she tugs it back and ties a swift ponytail with a rubber band, clearly accustomed to the action. The navy blue cloak winds its way undone, revealing her slight, tall form clothed in a black T-shirt and a faded pair of jean shorts, hiking boots and h