Post by Avery on May 8, 2018 2:52:42 GMT 8
The mask is divided; dusky midnight flowers and the defiant reds of dawn. The sides meet in waves, crashing into one another. Chaos.
The soul behind the mask paces in the twilight. As they turn you see one side, then the other, then the other again.
How can a face look tortured when you cannot see its features?
The streetlights flicker and yellow rings of light bloom on the sidewalk. A drizzle of rain makes the world shine.
The soul pauses. You see them reach for their hood and hesitate. Instead of drawing it over their head to protect against the rain, they slip their shoulders free from the robe, letting the garment rest on bent elbows.
The soul returns to pacing. Always the feathers in their hair sway with the motion of their movements. In and out of the yellow light they pace, fading into the shadows and emerging again.
As the rain quickens the masked soul ceases their pacing, tilting their face toward the clouds. They pull their arms free from the rode and cast it away into the shadows.
You see that their arms are decorated with the same swirling colours as the mask. Deep blues and purples snake their way up a naked arm and collide with fiery reds and inky blacks. Their collision pulsates rapidly as the colours twine above a beating heart.
You see the soul open their palms wide and spread their arms from their sides, catching raindrops on their way home to earth. The soul spins slowly and their feathers catch the wind.
You wonder if you were wrong, and ask anew: How can a face look joyous when you cannot see its features?
The soul spins, gathering rain on their fingertips.
The longer you watch, the more you see.
The colours are not chaos, but harmony. They meet not in destruction, but creation.
As the soul stills, turning their face to the sky and embracing the rain, you realize:
It’s not a mask at all. It’s a window.
The soul behind the mask paces in the twilight. As they turn you see one side, then the other, then the other again.
How can a face look tortured when you cannot see its features?
The streetlights flicker and yellow rings of light bloom on the sidewalk. A drizzle of rain makes the world shine.
The soul pauses. You see them reach for their hood and hesitate. Instead of drawing it over their head to protect against the rain, they slip their shoulders free from the robe, letting the garment rest on bent elbows.
The soul returns to pacing. Always the feathers in their hair sway with the motion of their movements. In and out of the yellow light they pace, fading into the shadows and emerging again.
As the rain quickens the masked soul ceases their pacing, tilting their face toward the clouds. They pull their arms free from the rode and cast it away into the shadows.
You see that their arms are decorated with the same swirling colours as the mask. Deep blues and purples snake their way up a naked arm and collide with fiery reds and inky blacks. Their collision pulsates rapidly as the colours twine above a beating heart.
You see the soul open their palms wide and spread their arms from their sides, catching raindrops on their way home to earth. The soul spins slowly and their feathers catch the wind.
You wonder if you were wrong, and ask anew: How can a face look joyous when you cannot see its features?
The soul spins, gathering rain on their fingertips.
The longer you watch, the more you see.
The colours are not chaos, but harmony. They meet not in destruction, but creation.
As the soul stills, turning their face to the sky and embracing the rain, you realize:
It’s not a mask at all. It’s a window.