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Elysian Fields Forever
Elysian Fields Forever

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Join date : 2012-03-24

From the furthest dusty corners of my mind Empty
PostSubject: From the furthest dusty corners of my mind   From the furthest dusty corners of my mind EmptyFri Jun 19, 2015 1:24 am

White is the most depressing color. It's complete absent blandness, void of color. People will say the same about black but black can be relaxing; it is the color of nighttime. White is the color of.... nothing. Nothing is naturally this perfect white--okay very few because, like, rabbits are all white or seashells sometimes and eggs I guess, but anyway it doesn't change the truth about the color. I hate the color white. Not because it stands for something in society or I hate "white" people. It is the color of my prison.

Plain white wall surround me. And I know there are more in this establishment. In fact, I know that all the walls are white. The outside is white too--or rather it used to be. Now it is a tired gray, peeling at the edges revealing color that had been covered over. With white paint. I feel like white is a lie. Nothing is ever so neat and perfect. Nothing. The world was not made to be that way.

I stare at the white wall. If I stare long enough, I can see through it. I can see all the places I'd rather be; all the places I want to go; all the places I've made up in my mind. I hear the sound again and realize that it never went away--my ears only ignored it, dismissing it as nothing new. Will life ever be... full? Of something other than the desire to be any where else? I have hope but looking back from the future would dash it.

There is only hope.
That is all I have and I can't give up on it now. Because without it, I'm over. I have to believe that one day the noise will stop and I'll find something else to fill my life with. I have to believe in a future or else I won't have one. So I screw my courage to the sticking place and begin shaping the person I want to be: making myself determined, bold, diligent, fun-loving, hard--maybe too hard, that will have to be chiseled off later--I try my best to create something strong for myself. I'm not sure if I succeed. And despite my best efforts, I find I'm still getting lost. So lost, in fact, I'm not sure what I'm lost in. Not in thought surely, but lost in.... myself? My shortcomings? My failures? My life? Thus far my life has been a series of nothing but failures. A pretty empty life after all.

My life has become like the mural on the wall of my prison. Nothing but absent blandness, void of color.

From the furthest dusty corners of my mind 9itwqp
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