Colors.
You’ve taken them for granted.
Born into the world with the galaxies printed on the inside of your eyelids and the stars mirrored in your mind, color is a constant in life.
A picture has a thousand words and the universe holds a thousand pictures, yet you’ve skimmed past the wonders that your mortality has offered.
Every day you wake to the golden sun and barely glance at that celestial sky, the puffs of white fog floating in that blue sea like islands. And you walk by the green blades on the ground, taking no notice of the bright flowers in the yards.
The deepest corners of infinity have hues and shades, tints and tones that paint the galaxies and stars, but you were too busy closing your eyes to truly look.
You happily ignored, never guessing or wondering if they were the reason for contentment.
One day, you notice.
You notice the blue sky crumbling to a gray dust, the flowers becoming dull, even the walls of your school, which you used to dislike, melting away as you try desperately to hold on.
The green cracks beneath your feet and at night the stars’ glow falls.
Time becomes as bland as your world.
Nothing looks right - it’s all gray and you wonder how you let this happen.
Days drag by - everything looks the same. It’s as though the life is leaching out of your world and you’ve reverted back into your uncaring state.
Months trickle like sand in an hourglass, each grain slipping through your fingers too quickly as time passes undeniably slow.
You stop hopefully looking at the flowers, trying to catch a glimpse of color on your walks home.
New Year’s rolls by - everyone is in a good mood except you. The vapid fireworks only remind you of the color you used to see.
It’s emotionally draining - you realize that they were the reason you were always smiling, a treasure you never valued, and now they’re gone.
Art class.
The excited chatter of students sounds like a drone and you do not care for it.
The teacher hands out paints - you know every color on the palette but it’s like you’re looking at them through a gray lense.
Your hand stings. You look down and find that the brush has snapped, several splinters embedded in your flesh.
That’s not what has caught your eye. A single droplet of blood rolls down your palm. It’s bright crimson, a ruby dot on your wrist, and for once you feel as though you’re not living in a black and white verse.
You remember that you’re real.
The world is still as gray as ever, but you stare at the red drop and pray that whatever deities watching over you are merciful.
Above, someone begins to repaint the world.
​
- 10/04/17
​