i’ve acknowledge that the sky was blue. i said “ i know, ” because it was easier than saying i don’t. people seem to smile when they talk about skies and i’ve learned not to interrupt happiness with truth.
i’ve never seen red. not the way they it supposed to. not way it makes them gasp like it means something. book describe it like fire, like rage, like love which, assign emotions to wavelengths i’ll never meet.
i nod and nod until my neck aches, until my agreement becomes muscle memory. for me, people speak in colors like it’s a language i never learned. at parties, in art, in fashion, in love. book say things like “ his eyes were forest green, ” i wonder what forest it mean. the ones i see are dust and dull. am i the silence in the room when the color wheel spins ? yes, im grayscale laughter in a technicolor world.
for me, alone is not black. it’s not even grey. they’ve been my companion ever. it’s the absence of a language everyone else knows. red or orange seeing people weep over sunsets and i never understand why their eyes tremble.
but this to buying the wrong shirt. this to ruining a painting. this to being told “ that’s not black, that’s violet ” and laughing like i meant to be wrong. i am wrong in your world, not mine.
sometimes i wonder if i was born into the wrong spectrum. if my body forgot how to interpret joy that my eyes were made to match the hollowness i carry.
is there a chance to see the color ? people talk about color like it’s memory. every hue holds a name and a moment, i don’t even know what colour mostly i’ve spent money for. i only see silence, the version that doesn’t scream.
when you left, you said you needed someone who could see beauty. i’ve told you before, i could. i just never knew its name so maybe that’s the truth, it’s not just that i can’t see what you see. it’s that i was never part of the world you believed we were sharing.
