There were days when he drew crimson across the landscape,
Painted life's already incandescent colours,
With a patchwork of his own joy and creativity,
The stars were a small reach above his head and the moon was his good friend,
He would dive into oceans and explore their depths,
Swim miles beneath the surface where  the world seemed safe and calm,

Then it stopped.







The world stopped...
With life.
And colour with it.







He stopped too and his world was no more.


Like a grey
Grey
Grey




Wasteland






Without the things he loved




And






This







Became








Normal.....







And as time went on...








he forgot,

that he once was happy...








but he knew

somewhere deep down









in some small place in his soul










that he had lost something...



Someone? maybe....

something precious

himself?







and that there was a longing inside






a longing






for life







it was like a tiny thread







which one day









he felt






Brave








Enough



To









Follow.

















It took him




















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