My Pencil Tells My Story

The Colors

The music was poetic, graceful. It painted a brightly colored picture, of purples and blues and greens. For she could see the Colors when she closed her eyes and listened closely.

No one around her could see the Colors. The Colors that belonged to each song. No medley ever had the same shades, no piece ever looked the same in her mind. The reds and oranges and the greys.

She was different. She was told she was special. She was told she was like no other. She had "talent". But to her the Colors were a bit scary. And it frightened her that no one else could see them when the piano played its soft tune. It was a "gift", they told her. But was that true? Was it acceptable, was it tolerable, was it alright, that she was the least bit bitter that she was outcasted, that she was separated, set apart from everyone else because she could see the Colors? All of the different shades no one else could see when the music played?

But little did she know, she was not the only one.

When he let his mind drift, when his fingers pressed the keys of his piano, he could see them too. The Colors. The soft and bright and dull Colors, filling his vision as he closed his eyes. He was different too. He was scared too. He was "talented" too. He was like her.

And soon she realized that she was not alone. It was not just her and the Colors. It was her and him and the Colors, all together, not ever alone anymore, different together.

The Colors were never scary or thought of bitterly again. They were the gift that brought them together, and kept them together. The reds, the blues, the pinks, the purples, the greens, the greys. Coming together to make a perfect picture.

-
Hi, my little kiwis! Does anyone else see colors when they close their eyes and hear music? No? Just Me? Alright. Have a kiwi-tastical day!