Melancholy Air

And sometimes it's just grey.
Like those days that hang over with haze-a supposed spring that reeks of winter, trying to shrug the residue of many months of salted water icing the streets, sidewalks and cars.
Those tears that want to fall but can't just yet.
The leaves that wish to grow but haven't found an atmosphere of safe space to unleash their precious green soul.
It's that welling up inside of you that feels enormous but isn't quite tangible...
The stale feeling of wait, I can't point my finger to it, it's not logical, it doesn't make sense but it's here.
Like it or not.
Love it or leave it.
Gray or colorful....
it exists, I exist, in the exostential game of universe.
We try to play but aren't sure of the rules.
How do you say, This hurts! When you aren't sure what the alernative model could be...does it matter?
Can you quiet yourself amidst angst?
Does the unrecognized go away if you just leave it?
Sometimes.

The colors fight with each other in their stratosphere of doubt.
They want to sketch out the bliss of spring renewal and summer leisure for their participants.
But grey takes over, making their stance neutral, forcing them to perfect a sort of midwestern expert patience that enables breath holding and the ability to forsee what comes next while still bundling.
It's unnatural really, to have a lack of transition for renewal...
and yet, it's intimacy, the ability to step into a deeper world with another, of another a world that most don't ever get to see...
unless they choose to remain committed and stick it out with patience...
even when they can say it hurts.