awarewolves:

Let me write about the future and let me tell you that I see nothing but grey. My greying skin, my greying hair, my greying vision, the greying pages of my journals, the greying calendars, the greying skies, the greying wallpapers — everything just grey, and nothing else.

Tell me, dear future, is my colorful love greying in your still hazy far existence? Tell me that he’s there. Tell me that there’s a strip of a rainbow’s tail-end, perched in technicolor on the years that would constantly desaturate me, and everything that is with me.