A detective's journal

Blind

Day 112

I recently discovered this strange phenomenon, that I apparently can not see. Ink described it with words of wonder, how it can mush well together, complimenting one another, contrasting even, bringing his creations to life. It sounded so ethereal, oh do I desire to see it with my own eyes, though.. When I asked how can I see such a thing, he looked at me with confusion

"You're looking at it"

He says, and all I can do is blink in confusion, it's on my eyes and all around us, enveloping every living being, what am I missing? Has it been under my nose this whole time? I can see how ink questions why I lack such sensation, I did too. Perhaps it's the way he described it that made it so… romantic, enticing, majestic even, to the point I set my expectations too high.

Is it really something I'm not able to see?

What brings a creation to life, I'd ponder, how can one even image that experience. How does it feel eerily familiar, if I do in fact never experienced it. Was it a dream, a vision, a vague memory? Where everything was so bright, vibrant, alive. The strange memory on the very back of my mind felt so far away, I could barely reach for it, remember it. Maybe in a different time, different place.

Revolvers, is said to be used in Russian roulette, placing a single bullet in, and test ones courage of pulling the trigger. A game of chance, risking ones life, blind to what will come. Despite mine being filled to the brim, it's quite interesting how it applies to me as well, not knowing what each bullet inside is capable of, not able to differentiate them, blind to the result. What has lady luck, had in store for whom I point this instrument to. What it would make of me.

For the time being, I might haf to hide this from ink, I'm sure he won't appreciate the idea of a gun in replacement of a brush. Perhaps it be safer, if I use that once I discover what this.. colors is.