about caitlyn; because she is breaking.
no really it's not as bad as the description i just presented hopefully. I hope you take the time to read it. I didn't mean for it to be on wattpad but my mom insisted I do and it's uneditted. Thank you if you're planning to read, and if not, thanks for considering.
I.
The wrapping around my latest present from Michael, or as he'd like me to call him, Dad, had exactly 24 pink stripes and 25 red stripes visible when you look from up. Red and pink were not the best colors to be put next to each other. Red and pink don't get along. When you force two tints to align, they should either be different shades of the same color or they should be two colors with nothing in common. Take turquois and brown; no one expects them to, but they match anyway.
Same could be said about people. Your best friend, if you're ever so lucky to have one, is either very alike to you, or has no similarities to you. Otherwise you two would get bored with each other. Pink and red bore each other. I don't like either of them anyway. My dad didn't know I don't like light colors.
Black is a hospitable color. It gets along. Good guy black. But I never found black in a person.
I hardly ever see white in anyone either. White is a responsible color. White is an underrated color. White tends to get along and sometimes fails. I found white in people. We call them fake. But they're actually okay, if you think of it color-wise. I don't like white though. White is not rare. I like rare. I like black.
I always wear black. Mom accuses that I'm depressed and un-amused. She doesn't understand that black is not a color, it's a religion, it's not a mood, it's a way of acting. I'm not really the black. Black doesn't exist in literal life. I do like the idea of black. Black and I have one thing alike: at first we scare a big deal of people out. But black tends to get along after a while. I don't.
My dad doesn't know I never open his presents. I considered telling him to just send the papers, I decided it was rude. I was gonna open them last week, but then and I decided I had already hurt enough people and my somehat childish as you may call it theory read numbers as frelings and mubers and really, any thing but colors.
I liked examining colors. I hated examining people. I never quite understood if I examined colors because I hated examining people, or I hated examining people because I had enough of them after I examined colors. Mom says I could success if something existed such as colorology. I searched it up. I knew it could never be a job, but it would a subject I'd like to take.
Colorology: The art of understanding colors and basing a psychology off the reaction of people to the colors.
I even took some tests. In one of them, we had to click a series of colors two times, in favor of our liking and mood, and it actually gave me back some really accurate results. And after that I sat back and watched flies flying to my window, ramming themselves onto the window, looking very surprised and then staggering away and following the same process. When my mom was walking past my room, I asked her to open the window for the poor guy/chick to get out. She gave me the weird look and did it and then left.
I was fifteen back then. My favorite color was gray, because I thought it was stylish to have such a unique favorite color. But then I realized gray makes colors look ugly. Gray doesn't mind dark red and black. Gray is a very difficult color. And it makes other colors difficult too. It makes light colors look dirty. I hate how it turns out when it mixes with pink. Truth is, pink is an okay color. When it joins with gray, it's like a good kid joins a gang and then becomes one of them. This kid will never be the same.
Pink is very vulnerable. I didn't like pink. Weak.
I didn't like gray. It wasn't that bad for itself, but when it starts co-operating with other people/colors, colors/people turn ugly.
