Four rows or water... connected, spiraling somewhere within the vast, foaming fields of the sea. Gray. Gray water, without salt. Without sand. Without anything. Flooded routes, neat, unused. Mountainsides, connected with the water's body, irrelevant under its surface. Gray water... gray skies. Gray grasses, with still winds, dripping with alexithymia. The second sun will rise, angel's wings will be stricken as they fall deep into the vast waters... the sun will rise, the sun has flooded the landscapes. My irises burst, raining a limitless spectrum onto everything... the sun rises. The second sun rises, in the middle of the day.
The angel floats indifferently, staring up at the water's surface. The foggy openness of the ocean surrounds him, as bubbles float to the surface from his mouth. A world still being created... uncertain, becoming irrelevant. The sun will rise... the sun is rising. The colors blind your eyes, burning them, as it carves its spectrum into the backs of your eyelids. You cry technicolor tears, as the explosions around you are too much to handle. Every step you took higher was one step further you'd fall, you fell hard... your wings were clipped, your black wing and your white wing can't decide. Your mind can't decide. Your heart can't decide. Black or white? What do black and white look like? I forget... I forget while I squirm in fear, drowning in unrelenting streams or pure color, as they turn into vast and inescapable seas. I spread my arms wide, looking over this new ocean. The colors, you can see their reflection in my deflagrated eyes. One white wing spreads in the black... one black wing spreads in the white. I stand on my toes, with my bare feet in the grass, as a breeze blows by... I can taste the color with my eyes.
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