the colors.
It seems ages have passed since I have been moved by purpose; it is a meaningless word these days. My muse is dead and gone. I watched as she was tied to the mast of that marvelous ship. It was docked at her shore for so long now and I knew it was waiting for the sun to set. I stared lazily as the wind carried her away. She became one with the current. She is the water now, and I am dying of thirst.
Where the riverbed merges with the ocean is where you will find me. Near enough to hear the waves breaking, but never joining with that salty grave. I can feel your breath on my face, but you will not take my hand. Why can’t I feel you? My paltry raft will never overtake you. Why can’t you stay? If you are the water, I’ll be damned if I ever touch land again.
…
But, yes, I know your ship has long since sailed and you write me letters that I will never read and you whisper to me while I sleep.
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I am bound to transience now; my senses are useless without you.
…
So I lie on the shore and you speak to me in vibrations. Did you know that’s what I live for now? The sail of that cadaverous ship has been taken by the horizon and that beautiful muse becomes the sky and the water. I am thirsty for that cool, salty liquid. But I look up and am moved by tragedy. You raise my chin to the sky and show me your colors. You are so far, yet so vast. How surprising you’ve always been.
The colors of those sunsets when we sit together are unlike anything created by the mixing of paints, unlike anything achieved with brushstrokes or color wheels. Did I ever tell you that you always made colors seem soft as satin?
The skies are painted by you, how I long to be a color on your palette. I believe that if I could get close enough I would become vapor, a whisper. I would become a soft shade of purple, blessing the sky and gracing your fingertips.
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The way you brushed the hair from my face, it breaks my heart it was so perfect.
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But you only send me the wind. You send me the wind when I want the water. You give me the sky when I want your smile. You give me the land when I want your arms.
…
My muse is dead and gone. She was carried away on that marvelous ship.
