Him.

He
is the colour
white.

You see,
white consists of all the colours;
and that is why he is beautiful.

He shines so bright, that he is blinding.
I cant help but look down,
whenever he passes by.

The first time I saw him, he was a blank canvas,
waiting to be painted
with the colours of my perception.

He spoke,
and a splash of pink
appeared.

He sang,
the colour diffused
across the canvas.

His words are the rhythm of my thoughts,
the tune of my soul,
and the melody of my very existence.

The more he was himself,
the more vigorous
this pink became.

Until one day
I turned and noticed
that he was radiating a luminous red.

A red
that blood
would envy.

His passion.
His earnestness.
His starry vehemence.

All of this
he contained
in a shell too small.

His luminosity
sometimes liberates from his shell
through small actions.

Liberating through his hands
that illustrates
the words he says.

Liberating through the dimple which forms
when his sense of euphoria takes the form of a smile
too big for his face.

Liberating through the slight bend of his body,
when the thoughts he vocalises
start emerging from his soul.

I now know the reason as to why the universe was made to be so vast.
The earth alone does not have the capacity
to accommodate his effulgence.

He is remarkable.
An art
of its own kind.

His absence
is as apparent as your toe sticking out
of your blanket on a cold day.

He has nature tucked in his pocket,
a smile to warm the sunrise,
and a heart which waters flowers.

Even the most trivial of his actions
fill me up
with inexplicable happiness.

I like him,
but those words don’t even begin to explain
the way I feel.

– Breezy Prabahar.

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