A cold sky

I do not know for sure if these walls are white. I can not tell if the clouds are neither. I wonder sometimes if the air we breathe is blue, since I hear that the sky is blue and heaven is made out of air I think. But I do not know for sure. Maybe it is made out of wishes, carried to the sky by the small clouds we breathe all the time. Maybe that's why we see those small clouds so clearly in the winter, in the cold, when we need those wishes the most. They look at us and tell us not to forget how strong they actually can be. Look at me, I'm heading for heaven! I'm heading for heaven.
Blue, they say that's the colour of a sad mind. I can't agree. Maybe that mind is just to focused on the wishes that fly before them to see the colours in the real world. The real world. I do not know for certain how most people can define that line so harsh, how they can tell someone that the real world is the world outside your head.

My clouds have found company. They dance together, those small clouds, and I do not need to open my eyes to see them. I breathe them. My heart is glowing in the dark, enlightened by you. Every spark in my body depends on that lifegiving bound - to you. I close my eyes, feel your heart pounding in my soul. That is my world. And the only thing I know for sure is this; nothing gets more real than that.

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