Contrast

 

Brown girl in a white world. White girl in a brown world. Which one? Both. How can that be?

Contrast.

Yellow sunshine splashing through my bedroom window. Smoky blue haze scattering across the landscape of my mind. Yellow – the colour of hope. Blue – the colour of beyond, the beyond never reached, though this doesn’t stop any of us from trying.

Contrast.

Sekiyama cherry tree exploding with cotton candy pink blooms. The very same tree – which stood naked and stark – he used to hang himself only two months ago. Why? I don’t know. Life seemed so ugly to him. And yet, I see such beauty – even through the prism of my tears.

Contrast.

A waiting room filled with pregnant bellies, growing, blossoming, quickening. Smiles and hope. And then me, with my empty, recently evacuated uterus, the contents having expelled themselves. No smile, no hope.

Contrast.

The dead lost to me no longer exist. Yet, they still live. They live in the spaces between my  thoughts and words, their spirits hang thickly over the haze of my longing. Dead, yet living.

Contrast.

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