the colour of silence. the colour of overcast people. the colour of leaving.
(the too-pale skin of everyone we couldn't save)
the scent of half-rotted trees. the scent of blank bleached tissues. the scent of rain-drenched sand on a shore that even the sea has abandoned.
(the soft stale smoke embedded in the jacket she abandoned)
the sound of footsteps and chatter. the sound of laughter echoing off tiles in a world far away. the sound of others, and not you.
(your mother's music through a tinny radio, long after your mother left)
loneliness is the colour of silence, but silence is the sound of isolation.
and isolation has a far sweeter tone than a hundred voices you’ll never know the names of.