Forgetting the ghosts that I once belonged to, I leave them in sunflower fields. Walking 20 miles south From here, I realise the world is made of color. The river between Grey and sunflower-yellow is thirty-six thousand feet deep; varying between Colours of you and me. Leaving the cemeteries of grey I find myself somewhere in-between dark and light~ No other colour can describe this; except maybe the world
He began to wonder why he had felt uneasy at all. It was like a man wondering in broad daylight why a dream had appeared so terrible to him at night. — Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart
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