Teardrops
Teardrops. A Teardrop, is the only thing I remember feeling. Though I must admit inwardly, was an indistinguishable, sludging, mixture of emotions.
Much like a painter assaulting his colors onto a canvas and once the colors dripped and bleed into one another an ugly blackness was all that left the center of view.
Maybe this blackened canvas’ impression on my mind is what caused this invading desperation. Black to me, was always symbolic. It was clear as black & white.
It paved its own of 2 roads,
2 ways,
2 streets.
It could be beautiful, yet others think it’s ugly. Consuming? Perhaps that’s what it was. Maybe that’s why. It felt as if it overcame me in that moment; dizziness- like my head was on a buoy, heaviness on my eyes- something-like-a-weight. That was the last thing I remember.
That was visible to me.
As, my eyes shut - Blackness.
Thanks for reading! Please consider liking this story, leaving a review, and of course leave a comment!
CRYING BLACK TEARS IS UPDATING ON THURSDAYS.
See you behind the page! -Jazzy<3
For those that read the previous version, please don't forget to share your thoughts!
Ooh, I like the canvas analogy. Drew the visualization of a frantic, chaotic painter to mind really well. Semi-related: black's my favorite color, so yay! Black! Plbbbbt to the people who think it's ugly! xD
First off, sorry took so long to start reading but I'm ready now! The painting description colored a beautiful way to begin this book.
I could visualize a monolog in a chaotic painter's studio. I like the visual aspect. I also liked the way you described finding beauty amidst the chaos.