To think of a human in black or white is to label them without exploring them. Put them in between. Never decide where they should belong because you won't know where they should, anyway. In between lines, in between colours, in technicolour or monochrome. Humans are grey. Dull and in between.
I remember the soft ridge of your face from when you looked at me and laughed. The soft ridge of your being. The anomaly of humans to not be sharp edges. With gentle curves all over you, to graceful moves, to small talks. You wouldn't know that. You have your edges and I love you. Skin and bones. Skins and bone. You see yourself as ineptly human and I agree. We're all flawed but your flaws looks great on you.
I remember the soft ridge of your face from when you looked at me and laughed. The soft ridge of your being. The anomaly of humans to not be sharp edges. With gentle curves all over you, to graceful moves, to small talks. You wouldn't know that. You have your edges and I love you. Skin and bones. Skins and bone. You see yourself as ineptly human and I agree. We're all flawed but your flaws looks great on you.
