It's a blue dress, my heart is wearing one
Not for sadness,
Not per loneliness.
Blue is not the patreon of gloominess,
and it is not my standard.
Even bluebells are not really blue,
they always give a hint of purple,
looking down,
not weeping, but directing the sky to the direction its tears should go.
What if the sky is not truly blue?
It is not, isn't it?
That's the thing;
Blue is just a reflection...
of darkness and melancholy, of the shadows within.
The sky is just a black tissue withholding tears as clouds,
the wind roars... cold.
I fear the cold wind is my only friend.
Roaring is my white noise,
my music.
My voice!
