Frosted.

I, like every other I, went about seeking love. My lessons were not written in any books or aphorisms of enlightenment. Great descriptions of how it is the part of path you are, fitted but not to the T. Dots were flung away from any imagination. (Chuckle)
I had seen the lines. And lines blurring too. I had lived the void. Avoided the emptiness too.  The glimpse of what the face of love was what I had had already. Silently it had branched its roots underneath so tight and strong that I never realised.  Shades I had picked. True. I wanted the colours to hue me in full bloom now. From shades to colour is a difficult journey to achieve since the nature of reveal is always from colour to its shades. Perhaps that notion too is as falsified as any one perspective being solemnly right. Swathed in goodness and contoured with the beautiful finish, we are too used to judging the closure as a good closure only if it is positive. Not necessary. Positive is the first negative of negative. It is an insecure expression of the fear to be dark and be an unconventional end. This way or that way. My way or his way. It is just a way. Inch above or below to it is only human. And if one thinks -hey that is so dry, so it is. Deal with it. Stop by for some melancholical thorns as you are too used to blossoming roses.