My eyes flutter open to the white light pouring through my window. I flip my fluffy bedspread off of my pajama-adorned body and am washed over by a wave of cold air. I shiver, then slip my bare (and very cold) feet into my soft fuzzy slippers, and walk over to my white desk. I pull on a pair of gray jeans, a dark gray t-shirt, and a couple of gray bracelets that Ana set out for me. It’s not that I can’t pick out my own clothes (technically) or that I only wear white, black, and various shades of gray. It’s not that everything is truly these colors. It’s just that when I pick out my clothes, they end up jumbled in an awkward mix of color, blacks and blues and oranges and purples and browns… all in one incredible mess of an outfit. It may look fine in black and white, but in the world of color… let’s just say it doesn’t quite work out. I wear clothes of color, at least, Ana says so. It’s just that, in a world like mine, if you could see it through my eyes, you would understand it all. In my world, there’s no beautiful cyan, no mystical peach. Through my eyes, its all black, and white, and the shades in between. My eyes, my world, my life… is not a life of color. Oh what it would be like, to live in a world like yours. In a world, a world of color.
