Woke up this morning feeling like rain. Like gray clouds and the sound of The Smiths.
Like wearing pajamas all day.
Now the sun is setting and I feel like the pink of the horizon and the sound of Fleetwood Mac.
Pick yourself up, I tell myself in the morning, and drag your sad bones and bruised feelings out of bed and colour in that blue.
I slip on my new skirt from a charity shop in Notting Hill – a little less blue.
Paired with big and glossy black heels – a tinge of silver.
Hop on the bus to Dillon’s coffee even though I’m off work today. Let myself be held by my fellow baristas for a golden few minutes.
A shot (four) of espresso, a window seat, mellow lilac thoughts.
A Streetcar Named Desire. Red hot.
A rooftop. The colour of twinkling hazel eyes.
Strolling back home in the evening sun munching on watermelon, the only blue I can see is high up in the sky. Now in the sunset the city lights up and the sky is blushing. The colour of content.