cloud

Pure blue sky, the color and taste of the blue raspberry part of a Firecracker popsicle. A 3-dimensional re-creation of the world we live in now. Picture yourself standing in a grandiose cube, filled with this blue color, even the ceiling and floor. It’s freeing, despite it being strangely disorienting. Holding your Bob Ross palette, you begin to craft your “little happy clouds”. The move slightly as breath of wind whispers through you. They are cumulonimbus. A pillow for Baby Hercules and Baby Pegasus to lay their heads. It is sweet tasting cotton candy, a piñata filled with rain coming to quench the world and bless the streams and rivers. Softness, but maybe transparency if you’re not gentle enough. The wind whispers again, blowing softly in the ears of the Creator. You can smell crisp, untouched, unadulterated air. Like New Hampshire in the mountains in Summer, July. Air that feeds and nourishes you. Many clouds now, growing and drifting apart, separating through a mitosis-like coming-apart. Body feels cold being up in the air like this now. The simulation becoming too real. You lay down on the clear blue sky cover yourself with a blanket that has now become your magic carpet, and imagine your child is laying right next to you where you could waste the afternoon away shouting out shapes of clouds and how they looked like animals. A grief-box where Time and the Past doesn’t exist. You live in a screensaver now. The future could be so advanced, but emotions remain the same, no matter what happens.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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