Tiny Particles of Grey Matter

Written By - Tessa Cash

I can smell toast.
Toast and butter and maybe a little vegetable but even for the prevalence of Australians in LA that is still wishful thinking.
He was a Pisces.
A soft slippery fish so hard to grasp.
As I listened to the song conjured up at the thought of him; I don’t think he’d learnt how to control the bouldering waves of emotion that so often overtook him.
Maybe that was never supposed to be the goal.
Maybe being lost in the ether of a vastly spun abyss was both the delight and the anguish, the Alpha and the Omega.
Maybe it was never black or white.
It was both.
It was grey.
Her favourite colour.
And grey wasn’t good or bad.
Or right or wrong.
It was where fragility met strength.
And kindness greeted vulnerability.
And love poured grace into cracks that made us unique and beautiful in a way we never could have imagined when we buried our pain.
Maybe grey was an explosion of love and colour when black and white finally came together in the name of peace.
We live in hope that one day all secrets will be exposed and all injustices will be healed.
But as the sky rumbles and the clouds gather for surely a war that has barely even begun,
It will be that stormy grey puff of a smoking gun that will leave us pleading on our carnage stricken knees.
Mars has come to cut deep into the bone sadness Saturn has built.
What will remain, she pondered.
Tiny particles
Of grey matter.