To him the world is always colorful
and something must be monochrome to catch his attention.
It's why he loves the old movies with Bogey and Bacall,
lives for those visionaries who make a strong statement in either-ors.
He's tired of living in a world with shades, variations on a figure
that could mean anything depending on its relationship to everything else.
Black is so much deeper than grey.
White is so much more pure than cream.
The older he gets, the more he finds himself dancing around extremes,
mistaking dim bulbs for the sun, playing havoc with his navigation,
losing all sense of perspective for the sake of the simple.
Sometime, once he's grown comfortable, even two options will start to annoy him
and he'll try his best to ignore anything else
but the light he dances around, crashing over and over again,
burning the choice out of smooth, smooth brain.
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