Now, I am a mellow grey.
     Yes, some greys are complex,
     hinting at oranges or blues,
     but my grey is just there.

My grey hides its passion, its life.
     Easily exhausted,
     it is a backdrop
     that does nothing to entertain one’s gaze.

But inside of me hides leafy green.
     Bright, fresh, a new beginning;
     forgivable, for despite months of absence,
     so many greet it in the spring.

Are there people I know, waiting for spring?
     There might be hope, or faith,
     that hasn’t been sucked
     into this endless void of grey.

Maybe, there is someone out there waiting for me to bloom.