2/28 | 2.2.18 | February Writing Challenge
2/28 | February Writing Challenge
2. What color do you feel like today?
My English teacher junior year taught us that colors are always significant.
This was supposed to apply to literature, but it applies to everything for me; especially myself.
Sometimes red is my permanent state and someone comes along and pours blue into me. Suddenly I'm a purple mess, an unexplainable color, a disaster that can't be described accurately.
Purple-me is everything I don't want to be, a middle area between anger and sadness dripping over me, submerging every ounce of myself and filtering my vision to the colors of the real world.
Then my days are shades of purple, going through aubergine and amethyst and lavender and soft pastels until I fade away again to a blank slate, waiting to be colored once more.
Sometimes blue overcomes me; the light sea aqua is as tranquil as I was months ago and the cobalt is in-between, drifting back and forth between sky-highs and Mariana's trench darkness and the color of generic cough syrup is exactly what I disappear into. We used to make blue drinks in a prison-cell dorm and with every gulp, I couldn't help but feel exactly the same as the liquid in my cup.
Some say pink doesn't exist but I see myself in the carnival cotton candy-like skies that remind me the end is beautiful, it will be beautiful no matter how it happens. Then the obsidian silky skies, speckled with celestial light reminds me that the end is eventual and inevitable. I'm reminded to embrace the purple, and the blue, and the pink because one day there won't be a day where I am any of those colors.
I both look forward to, and fear, the darkest nights.
2. What color do you feel like today?
My English teacher junior year taught us that colors are always significant.
This was supposed to apply to literature, but it applies to everything for me; especially myself.
Sometimes red is my permanent state and someone comes along and pours blue into me. Suddenly I'm a purple mess, an unexplainable color, a disaster that can't be described accurately.
Purple-me is everything I don't want to be, a middle area between anger and sadness dripping over me, submerging every ounce of myself and filtering my vision to the colors of the real world.
Then my days are shades of purple, going through aubergine and amethyst and lavender and soft pastels until I fade away again to a blank slate, waiting to be colored once more.
Sometimes blue overcomes me; the light sea aqua is as tranquil as I was months ago and the cobalt is in-between, drifting back and forth between sky-highs and Mariana's trench darkness and the color of generic cough syrup is exactly what I disappear into. We used to make blue drinks in a prison-cell dorm and with every gulp, I couldn't help but feel exactly the same as the liquid in my cup.
Some say pink doesn't exist but I see myself in the carnival cotton candy-like skies that remind me the end is beautiful, it will be beautiful no matter how it happens. Then the obsidian silky skies, speckled with celestial light reminds me that the end is eventual and inevitable. I'm reminded to embrace the purple, and the blue, and the pink because one day there won't be a day where I am any of those colors.
I both look forward to, and fear, the darkest nights.
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