Just like there are dark colors, there are dark days
For now even the colors around me do not seem to love me;
the  plucked flower in my fingers still chooses to create art or is it the art that chose it?
I think of such times when we'll sit in the sun
By a countryside
when you'll sing to me incomplete ballads
And I'll hum along
with my eyes closed.
Such subtle simplicities are what you and I are looking for
That I fear I'll go blind if I keep on looking
For today the colors around me do not love me anymore.
Mainu