An ironic contradiction, simple yet complex. Subtle yet harsh. Humorous and Somber. Nice and Mean. I'm the in between.
You will not see who I am here. But you cant take a peak into my soul.
I am cerulean. I am saturated and vibrant, deep and blue. But my color can change when you need it to. Around some people, I am navy, dark and steady. I am an ocean to carry you, and a night sky to cradle you. Around others, light as the sky, with wispy clouds of barely white, a blue like a smile. I am a million shades of blue for everyone I know. But when I’m on my bike, when I’m with my best friend, when I’m on the phone with my Dad, I’m cerulean. I like fading along the spectrum, I like those shades of who I am, but when the waves settle, when the clouds clear, I am cerulean.
We chameleon into other colors around new people to build a bond, to show commonality and shared ground, to appear cooler, smarter, more interesting, and brighter, friendships and ties can rest on those laurels. Bonds can be forged. And you’ll show glimmers, you’ll show streaks of your color, and with any luck, your color will shine through more often than some makeshift swirl. You will find complementary colors and you’ll be your brightest self. But some people will make you want to be a different color forever, something else. They will want you to be a darker, sexier oil, or a quieter, more palatable pastel. And the effort that will go into becoming a shade that is not your own will weather you, it will age you, and it can hurt like hell.
You mix in a little black to make your text message more mysterious. You mix in a little blue to appear cool when he asks if you’re serious. You mix in these colors trying to find the perfect shade of response to what you think they want. You ask your friends, “maybe a little darker? Maybe a little brighter? Maybe this and maybe that?” and they always say, “maybe, but make sure you remember to fade back.”
So what makes this relationship different than the ones in the past? With him, I say what comes to mind because I’m not worried if it’s right or if it’s time. With him, I curl up close because there’s space for me and the space he made is mine. I wish I could say what it was, or why it’s different, but all I can say is that when I am with him, I am saturated and blue, deep and vibrant. I am unequivocally and without effort the only color I ever really want to be. With him, I am cerulean.
You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking…ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
Charles Baudelaire (via crowe-thompson)
Modest mouse (via tsedomouse)