LYA's Collection

Minimalists fascinate me.

All white and black and grey

Back to the pictures of the early 1900's

The occassional brown of wood and furniture

It's a world so simple

I wish to embrace

But how can I so,

When all I am Is color?

Metaphorical, but also physically

Just... For your information.

I think of them as people who live in a unique world, one up there,

Only for those who achieve enough

And I know I will never acheive enough for them.

But it's okay

I'm okay with observing them from afar,

Going about their daily lives of early mornings

And six a.m. white and black Journals

And 7 a.m. breakfasts and gym sessions

I don't hurt myself with the thought

That my life needs to be together for me to feel alive.

Or something

Like that

It's hard to put into words

When all I can or want to do is think the first word and type down the rest

Maybe I'll do it later.

Still, I'd like to be a minimalist someday

If at all

I feel like it would bring about a certain peace of mind

The kind that comes with living a life

In greyscale and light, latte brown

The same one of wood

With that I mean the color, but it works both ways

This tranquility of water

On a quiet winter day

No, a silent one

With no wind

Or pebbles thrown across it

No ripples.

I think at some point while writing the earlier parts of this

I wanted to say I hated Minimalists

I wonder why

Because a life of black and white is not a life to me

Perhaps?

Or was it too boring

For the me that wrote this a few minutes ago?

I can see her point

She's right, of course

Their life isn't the best one

But maybe

Just maybe

It's the one I badly want

With no consequence,

Or hurt or sacrifice

That has,

for the rest of my life, me

To hunt.

But only for meantime.

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Thank you for reading <3!