Color Blind

Color Blind

01/08/22

Leah Stone

I've been staring at a blank page; Opening and closing, writing and erasing. There's so much inside of me, clawing its way to the surface just to be shoved back down. Art is born in the midst of emotion; Here I am, with a full color palette, denying the touch of my brush to a canvas. I want to scream, but my lungs refuse the air. My eyes protest at the idea of letting my tears fall.

Have I really gotten this bad? Everything is so...funereal.

They've all witnessed my pain; I thought being vulnerable made it easier to accept. Instead, I am presumed a pessimist, because I feel so intensely. Do you think I enjoy being bleak? Perhaps, because my eyes have adapted to the darkness around me, I am pessimistic; Only ever searching for chaos to ensure a comfort that will make me complacent.

Do you think I relish watching life pass me by in black and white?

You don't know what I would give to see the world in color again.

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