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RUSSELL

The sky WAS grey

The sky always looked grey to me, the sky was ugly it wasn't blue, I was I never got the hype couldn't conceive the reason for wings birds just hopped around like me where's the freedom in that? in this shade of grey monotonous forever this more concrete than abstract sky where open air feels solid I stroll across it aimlessly a Skywalker, I fancy yet apathetic, more or less is this what it feels like, "to be suspended in air?" when I jump, I leave the sky because I walk on it what's the fuss? I've even fallen and scraped my knees on it kicking rocks across its hardened clouds if that is what these squares are called it defies every description of a "sky" I've heard where heaven lurks beyond the seen if only I could break through this sky... could I find God? Heavens seems buried, not open vast and free, like everyone says so much for listening to others everyone sees life differently I suppose willfully delusional, I guess more power to them realism isn't necessarily pessimistic I think? fantasy is a respite, I get it then one day, trying to relieve a pain in my neck I realized- the sky was up! every description I seen all at once my head had been down?! after all this time!?! I'd been slumped under the heavy weight of my existence casting my own melancholy shadow more acquainted with my feet than head a bottom pit-like feeling latched on for so long like a parasite and I its host leaving me with an airy void until now! suddenly given hope hope, that there's more than just this that wings have purpose that heaven is infinite and beyond pillowy clouds and the sky is limitlessly vast and free and God isn't buried beneath my feet that day, my world flipped upside down! never seeing life the same again! ... in case you ever wondered what it would be like walking out of prison


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