Just because the fairgrounds are closed in the winter doesn’t mean that you have reason to be blue. Even though the light is white outside and it bleaches the red from your skin, there is no reason to be blue. The summer will come again and a weary old man will be serving cotton candy while the children scream and scream and scream. You will turn into a blur of colour (a smudge on the back of somebody’s hand) as the scrambler spins you too fast to fear collison. The summer will come again and the ferris wheel will be lit up every night like the promise of a very good childhood. And there will be no reason to be ashamed because nobody will know that you are really just a pale, pale boy who only feels alive when drinking up the yellow of sunlight, drinking up the sound of laughter that doesn’t belong to him.
