You were my indie movie mid-day dream
Set to a score I pretended to know
With a grayscale gaiety
And acoustic attitude
Where there is no build,
Only the drop into love
And a perplexing end
Tied up with a pretty metaphor.
I pretended to not miss the colors
Because you are abstract excellence
With an objective too complex for the viewership.
And you expect me to manipulate the monochrome
And see your true colors.
Yet you are all gray area.
So let’s not cross this imaginary line,
Leave it alone in the black and white,
In a stack of half-filled sketch books.
We were never meant for a silver screen.