Violet Cream

Violet cream. A light, velvety lavender. Such was the soft glow of that particular night’s sky. Hints of golden orange blew in the clouds because of the street lights. The snow that covered the ground and the rooftops of the suburb reflected the celestial magic. The road, though surrounded with all this splendor, was still black, still motionless, still hard. It blackened any light it touched, and hid any love it felt, if it felt any love at all. It’s hard to tell whether or not she wanted the snow or if she needed some time to herself, or whatever roads think. All I know is that the snow hasn’t touched her, and a casual observer like myself would say that the road just wants to be left alone; don’t we all? What is it about snow that reminds us how heartbroken we are? The snow slowly conceals the secrets that tease a terse soul; the snow wants me to forget; but I don’t want to forget. She’s the road, and the snow is time; time isn’t hiding her from me. Everything around her is blending in the background, but she is still hard, still black, still there. A black road Surrounded by violet cream, and I, helpless to change it.