Dear Black, Love White

Dear Black,

I see how it is, with you and me in reality, facing each other in a seamless obscurity named ‘balance’ which somehow is the reason of our abstract parting. This reality, yours… mine… ours, which doesn’t let us be more than balance, which doesn’t let us express the beauty of our imbalanced togetherness, imperfect exquisiteness, I despise it for it is untrue to me. It doesn’t appreciate the myriad possibilities between us, our subtle alchemy. It regards our tryst as something morose, sad, grave, miserable, gloomy and sometimes even blue but I wonder, will they ever try to understand the beauty of our rendezvous? In reality I guess not but probably in some other space where a pinch of me and a part of you won’t be measured on what they call ‘the dullness of a greyscale.’

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