When the clouds roll in, I feel what’s next.

Grey is a marvelous place to rest.

It’s undefined, it’s open, it’s changing.

Why do many see grey as down?

Grey moves up, out, in.

She is an adventurer,

a mystery box of ingredients, 

A challenge.

Grey is gloriously indecisive, 

like me.

Grey can be cool, warm, humid, dry.

I don’t know what I want most days; I can’t rely on a plan

or my sense of direction.

Senseless. Directionless.

Grey is my mistress. Simple. Blissful. She keeps me from feeling blue.

Grey’s infinite shades

like moods

like grooves

compliment my every face.

Grey is the genre that can always speak to me.

Grey is peace. 

Grey is space.

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