January 1 : Colors

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Not everyone can see color, in fact, where I live, 98% of people can't see color. In this town, being able to see color is a luxury, it's a blessing and anyone who can is discriminated, both in a good way and in a bad way.

If you can see color, you can do art, you can appreciate paintings and drawings by famous artists a lot more than someone who can't. If you can see color then you can paint better, your palette aren't shades of gray, it's a vivid rainbow, blues and reds and greens.

I was cursed with being able to see color.

It was a curse I never asked for.

Even with all the colors in my vision, all the hues that I could fathom, it all seemed so dull, every single color just melded into each other around me, it's a mess, it was all a mess.

Until I met her.

From that day on, the colors didn't melt into swirls that didn't make sense, the colors stayed right where they are, they were bright and beautiful. That day I realized the skies were a bright shade of blue, I realized the trees were a lush green, I saw the green keychain she had hanging off the zipper of her bag, I saw the pink in her cheeks.

For the first time I felt alive.

But now, I still see color, but not quite the same as I used to, and I distinctly remember the last colors I saw as they were.

I saw red, the anger was red. I felt cold, I felt the blue, I felt lonely and alone. Red and blue, the last colors that I can recall.

Except the green, the small green strip of a keychain. And the jet black ink, on the snow white paper.

Apology, a decision she didn't make, the trip she didn't want, and the life she wouldn't live.

On the sky, with its blue fading, getting duller by the second, a speck of white, a plane.

And I never truly saw color again.

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