when you ask me if I'm bored
of listening to your terrible stories,
it makes me think about
what boredom means to me
and why it’s beauty that I find
in apparent mundanity.
you colour my life in every tone of grey -
in a nourishing and poetic, underrated way.
Grey - the soul of every colour in the world;
Invisible and aligned - right between extremes -
like all well designed things are known to be.
Or maybe because grey
feels like routine,
and you’re the everyday
that's to come and that has been.
you're where I set my bar for normal;
you're my Sunday night pyjama informal.
You’re my common sense, and my reality check,
my perspective lens, my goodnight peck.
and even your grim phone voice
and plotless stories on sleepless nights
are part of the palette I've come to adore,
painting magic in monochrome.