Colorblind // Phan

Chapter 1

I feel deep sorrow for those who are colorblind. Not because they cannotdistinguish the difference between a red rose or white, or a green dress and blue, butbecause they cannot see the beauty that is the sunset. They cannot tell of the colors that hold onto one another and mix in perfect harmony as they blanket the sun and let her sleep for the night, giving way to theglint of the moon. They cannot see the hues that cause lovers to become awestruck and fall deeper in love. but they can see shadows and light. they can see how their lovers’ hair darkens his profile a tiny bit, creating contours. they can see how beautiful he looks when the sunlight hits his eyes and makes them shine a brightness in competition
with the night stars. they can see how the light slips from his face at night and how shadows replace the brightness. they can see how the morning light pushes out these shadows, making room to lighten his face once again. Perhaps the rise and fall of the light on a man's face are all the sunsets a colorblind person ever needs.

I sit awake watching the sun fall beneath the horizon and the sky darken slowly as the moon takes the sun’s place in the deep blue sky. I sigh, sunset is my favorite time of day. The concept intrigues me to this day, the sun leaves the sky and leaves beautiful colors behind to make room for the moon. The moon and the sun are never together but always looking out for each other, so it seems. My room is scattered with paper and canvases, writing and paintings of varies things. A large portion of them have to do with the sunset but I can never fully capture its beauty. The sun is fully set in only a few minutes and I’m brought back to reality. I close the curtains and turn away from my window and gaze upon my mediocrely sized room. Leaned against the far wall are stacks of colorful canvases each holding their own story. Opposite that wall is the window and an easel stood up and angled perfectly so I have a view out the window. On the same wall pressed up in the corner is my bed that is covered in clothes and miscellaneous items. Opposite the bed is my desk and closet, both filled with nothing particularly interesting. I move from the window to my desk and pull a notebook and pen out of the drawer. Poetry is probably my second favorite way of expressing myself. It’s much easier than talking or explain how I feel. Similar to my paintings but instead of colors I use words to create an image. I write for what seems like hours and start drifting to soundly to sleep. The pen falls to the floor landing on a pile of paper and creates a loud rustling sound that wakes me up. With a sigh, I pick the pen up and put both it and the notebook back inside of my desk. Shortly after I am on my bed looking up at the ceiling and attempting to fall asleep again. In minutes, I am asleep once more and sleep soundly through the night.
AN :
So im only posting a little bit today but i have a good amount of this fic written. If people actually read this then ill post it.