They were like the mismatched leftovers on a palette, undeserving of the painted canvas, yet too striking to throw and waste. Yet, when an artist's talent drips at the ends of his fingers, he can bond their colors faultlessly so; the crimson truly cleansing the royal-purple, producing a pristine, immaculate, ethereal white.
White stood for many things. Purity, tranquility, truth, justice; all things noble and good, but it also represented tiny, harmless lies.
Yes, she was his white lie; but while they are concealed behind their opaque façade, the world will never know.
Besides, a little anonymity never hurt anyone.
-
Gotta love the vagueness, no?
REVIEW!
