The dust that I clean out of my mind is the ink that splashes in your face. Ink is my only weapon and I need to fight hard this time. I don’t believe in blood as a victory proof, I believe in respect.
I love to take risks. I know. I am no good. And you were a fun risk to take, a dangerous one, knowing I have a weakness for everything related to arts. I knew it would be trouble, but I guess I am a little masochist. You release such a mysterious energy, as if instead of being an artist, you were art itself. I was tempted. But I behaved, I didn’t let it show, I am a lady. But a human too after all.
Peace. No wonder this word left a scar on my own skin. I wanted to remember, how important it is be in peace with myself, at every moment, everytime. And to realize when I am not. And in this moment, there is a disconnection between my heart and my mind. They are at war. 3rd world war level, Russia against USA type of war. And I am thorn apart, my mind is driving me crazy and my heart is keeping me weak. It’s just as if I’m standing under a purple color rain, dazed and confused. I feel like I’d need to step away, protect myself and go hide under a shelter. And on the other hand, I can’t leave, I am trapped in this mysterious, unique and beautiful rain. I know I’ll get a bad cold. But there is no way I can move.
You are not rain. You are not art. You are another human, who’s been hurt, and lost and confused and who is probably trapped under another colored rain somewhere else. You are caught up into something as well, but I can’t reach out to you completely. I just wish we were confused about the same things. I wish we were trapped in the same cage. It would have made it easier to figure everything out.
This purple rain, I like it. This world you live in, I dig it. I breathe it. My lungs are craving it, always.The same way yours crave that cigarette. Sometimes I feel that people need something that will remind them they need to breathe. So they start smoking or doing yoga. It’s simply a way not to forget to take big breaths. Because we get so caught up in life that it becomes easy to forget what keeps us alive in the first place. A breath, simply a breath. But I don’t forget. I don’t need puffs and Om to fill my lungs with air. All I need is Art, to keep me in awe and Love to keep me breathless. It’s all it takes to remind me to breathe.
Between your piano ballad song and your spanish guitar solo, the more I inhale your world, the more I realize your purple rain is polluted. My lungs hurt, my heart aches. It is not healthy. It is not the pure air I craved for. My mind notices but my heart, as stubborn as it is, refuses to see. You’ve written your soul away to your senses, you sold it out to the devil. Your air is full of art, but it is lacking love. Just like a plant needs sun, I need love. Otherwise I faint away.
My leaves are now yellowing, and my roots are getting weaker. It is time for me to seek what is good for me. What will bring back my colors. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret anything. That purple rain soothed me, it taught me what I needed to learn. It created a real feeling of happiness and carefreeness in me, your purple rain leaked just like freedom on my skin. But, as I expected, I got a cold for staying under that weather for too long. I now have to look for something that won’t be ephemera, something that will nourish me deep into my roots for good.
For those like me, who seek purple rain, it is important not to be prudent. Go for what your heart craves, it doesn't know what it is getting itself into. But let it go anyways. Follow him. It will get thorn, it will shine and it will bleed. It will crawl, and with whatever is left of it, it will sing of dying happiness. Sometimes, it will be happy to be sad. And other times, sad to be happy. Because there is a fine line between sadness and happiness and that's the only thing that the heart understood. So if your heart wants it, let it. You will get a cold. And a heartbreak. But whatever breaks only allows more light to enter throughout the cracks. So don't be afraid to tear it apart. Explore. But always bring an umbrella with you, because you never know how bad that purple rain can get. And if you are courageous enough to step out of the rain, you will be able to be blessed by the view of the rainbow. You will realize that while you were seeking the purple, you couldn't be aware of all the other colours of the spectrum that were there to blow your mind.
Ink is my only weapon. And I needed to fight hard this time. I don’t believe in blood as a victory proof, I believe in respect. That’s all I’m asking for. And some tea, I'd like some tea too. They say it soothes the soul. And helps a cold.
c'est très beau Mel, j'aime les métaphores :) Purple rain
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