Sirop de Vanille

The dark grey skies are deceptive, I’ve been waiting all day for it to pour, for them clouds to split open and rain down on us. The sun has been hiding and the weather has been “nice” and “beautiful” and “gorgeous”. It is as cloudy as my brain and as depressing as grey can be if not teamed with something that makes you smile.

He was wearing a grey suit and had teamed it with a white shirt and silver and blue tie. That is how grey should be. He was in white and black, but the white had navy stripes and the tie, oh the tie was just perfect with deep blue, navy blue, silver and black diagonal stripes. Very few men wear the right ties. Very few days are cloudy and perfect.

The weather here seems to be reflecting your thought process. Stuffy and oppressive. Smoke after smoke, grey billowing in this room doesn’t help. It’s oily, it’s depressing and I cannot breathe freely. Circles, vicious, vicious circles make you dizzy. There is no air to breathe, there is no breeze, no wind. This room needs large french windows, for everyone’s survival.

The green, the blue, the white and black pale in comparison to the red. The red screams life and love and passion. Where is my red? Where is my red? The purple water bottles are old, the new ones are clear with pink caps. Pink annoys me, and it’s all your fault? You made me roll my eyes at pink. You and your hair flipping and pink lip glossing and pink accessorising.

I am tired. Oh so tired of this grey. So sick of this pink. So confused and so dizzy. Rain, for I need it to wash away everything. Purge this city of its sins. Rain and pour and storm all over this dead stifling city for it needs you. Needs you to stop posing for amateur photographers and horrid skyscapes. Just wash away this, this grey!