I see orange in the sadness of the sky,
The dying day, taking with it all the heaviness we humans create under it.
I see orange slowly decaying into brown
in the leaves falling from the trees, getting smothered by feet.
I see orange in the pale blush of his smile when it’s about to fade from his lips.
I guess it’s safe to say that I find orange in the almosts of life.
Now the reds and the blues, as Holly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s says, are horrible and mean. But the oranges. The oranges are those moments that carry the weight of the transition. The deciding moments of whether something will be complete or stay empty.
Orange are the moments before the light dies down;
The moments before the last thread of the leaf’s stem breaks;
The moments before he says the words
“I give up on us”.
Oranges are almosts.
And almosts are, well, just not enough.
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