The antonym of pink is the beating of a heart when someone falls in love

When you love, it feels like a buzz of a bee flying in the summer breeze

When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find a field of wildflowers on a summer day that follows a flowing stream of icy water

But every stream has a end, or a fork up ahead, where the roar of the water breaks turning it in different directions yearning to meet up again

If you turn your hope on high, you’ll see a hot air balloon of love trying to break free of the rope that holds it down.

But at the center of boredom is a never ending ticking clock yearning to strike midnight.

The opposite of tender is alone in the cold woods at midnight as a fog sits around you.

And the swirl of loneliness sounds like a whirlpool in the center of the ocean when no one is around

When you toss sadness to the wind, it returns as the echo of thunder bursting through the sky.

Why have love when the summer day will turn cold as the harsh autumn wind will come rolling in

When that rope holding on to that balloon will eventually break

When that clock finally hits midnight, what is left to hope and wait for

That pink bright heart that was once lively and full, will eventually drain out of its life, like one of the streams that can't support itself anymore and will come to an end faster than it had wanted. Never seeing the ocean where all the lucky streams had met, being together until forever, lasting a lifetime.