It was a bright and sunny day, but I can no longer see the beautiful colours, hear the whistling the blue jays, or see the bright sun that no longer shines a bright yellow but a dull grey, as grey as a glorious grey sock, last night's expired porridge, or as grey as the paint on my apartment walls, the same walls that my dead mother used to confine me in before she passed away in a haze of crimson, the only colour that I now can see.
