Storms

The middle. The core. The converging point.

Stand there too long and everything becomes blurred. The eye of a tornado...the centre of a twister. The heat is strong and everything around is slipping...melting... disintegrating. Why are there so many sides to the polygon? Which edge is real? Which vertex truly exists? Which surface is solid ground? Holding on is impossible. Detecting patterns is useless. Filtering the noise is painful.

There must be a way to disengage, to regroup, to regenerate.

Inner peace is hard to come by. Will I find the serenity?

Illusions

When blue isn't blue anymore, what do you do? When red becomes tainted with purple, then green, then brown, it turns pitch black. When you look at yellow after looking at orange, what colour is it? What colour do you want it to be? Ever tried staring at coloured polka dots then looking away at a white wall? Sometimes I see shadows. Other times I see flames. I blink. Once. Then once more. Captures and stills. Blurs and instant replays. Flashbacks. What are they? Definition. Correlations. How do you deduce their meanings?

Why do you still hold on? It is not worth it in the end. There is nothing left. Let go, my friend. Let GO. It will be alright. The blue will come back as blue...if you're lucky.