we spend all our lives searching for color that we don't realize all that exists is in black and white.
in thoughts and words
through tears and laughter
it's all facing ruins
empty, broken, torn down.
the Mayans once were living
they once ruled a kingdom far advanced for their time
and yet they still were wiped out.
what's meant for us, then, if we can't even see in color.
if everything was horrible, if we only knew loss, would it still seem as bad?
if we believe we're seeing color, but we only know black and white, do we actually trick ourselves into playing along?
maybe one day we'll release our souls into the sky,
fly up up up
and
a
   w
         a
              y
and realize
this entire time we weren't seeing color or black and white
we weren't feeling emotions or experiencing thrills
we weren't living.
maybe then we can start our lives.
it just takes a while until we accept it and go,
takes a while to come to terms with the fact we've been fed lies.
come to terms with the fact we have to go though this hell all over again, except this time it actually counts for something.
this time
it's called death.