"Tears are words that need to be written."
--Paulo Coelho

The room, bright with the sunlight that bursts through the white linen curtains, deceives those who look inside. Because despite all those who have laid their eyes upon the room, they appear blind to the shadows that linger, growing ever so slowly.

These very shadows are casted by old photos and trophies, by dusty book shelves and worn stuffed animals, by the very curtains that let the light bleed in, feeding the facade that people can't help but eat up.

These shadows grow and fester, never backing down and swallowing all that surrounds them. The various rays light dancing though the windows seem to stand no chance against the invasive vines of blue and gray. Nothing is moved from its place, merely darkened in color. Not one eye takes a second glance at the dimming of light. Not one lash blinks at the flooding of blue, a blue so rich in tone that it becomes overwhelming.

The room continues to flood with blues and grays, these shadows moving as tides do against a rocky shore, yet they cause no damage. It is as though they can't, but perhaps it is not in the physical surroundings that the damage is being made.

The shadows rise, and rise, and rise, consuming all they can in their deceitfully calm darkness. They flood the room, so much so, that the windows strain to keep shut, to not burst under the pressure.

The room continues to dim as the windows are slowly covered, inch by inch, and despite their efforts — they simply cannot hold in the waves of blue and gray crashing against them. Finally, they fall open with a wail.

Blues and grays rush out of the two windows and cascade down the rolling hills of tan, further and further, until they meet their demise at the peak of the last hill.

They go soaring off the final edge, drifting almost like feathers, as they make their last journey to the white flat surface below them. The same surface a pencil was currently scribbling upon. The same pencil that is in the hands of a woman who guides it along with an almost painful elegance, stitching together a concoction of words. The same woman who had streams of blues and grays escaping from her eyes, rolling on by, down her round, tan cheeks. The same eyes that were the very windows to her soul.

Soooooo, that was somethin. That was my first piece! I tried for something different, well to me at least. I wanted for it to be a very, visually based piece, and I'm being honest when I say that I'm very proud of it! I hope you guys enjoyed it, feel free to leave a comment down below on what you think. Constructive criticism is always allowed, but don't be mean!

Welp, until the next time my babes!
Ciao!

MM/DD/YYYY
07/11/2018
03:16 (am)