The sky, a canvas we call blue, is a whispered lie, a trick of light on water's skin. Nature paints no true cerulean, no sapphire born of earth. It is an echo, a longing reflected, a pigment of our own invention.
And so it is with love, this phantom hue we chase. It is not a thing to be held, nor a place to be found, but a delirium, a beautiful deception we must willingly surrender to. we must drown in its imagined depths, let its illusory embrace become our truest reality...
