I think it'd be maroon.
And I think the sky would be yellow fog.
And I think my dog would be the proud owner of a baby penguin.
And I think the music playing in everybody's ears would be acoustic music.
And I think the trees would be coffee colored and the leaves would be gray and the nonexistent eyes on the tree bark would be a shade of light blue and my heart would pump blood the shade of stones and my hair would mimic the color of cookie dough.
And why I think this, you ask?
Who knows.
I certainly don't.
But let red lipstick leave it stains where your memory lies and remember that hellos can be just as sad as goodbyes.
And dreams crack in the places where walls crumble,
but you can learn a thing or two from the mess of broken rubble.
Remind where I was going with this?
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