Childhood was like a cold steel of grayish misery, and I a model of poorly molded mousy brown clay misshapen by the hands of poverty and neglect.
Sometimes depression looked black as an onyx; other days, deceptively, it would creep into the corners of my life like a taunting beam of golden sun.
Sleeping next to an unfaithful lover as my heart burned red like a hot coal from the betrayal and then cooled into a crumbling black carbonized fossil.
The defeat of unrequited love was like a purple bruise.
The sensation of envy was pea green making my stomach summersault with queasiness.
Miscarriage was crimson red like warfare and carnage tearing out my heart and leaving me bowed, broken, and desolate, knowing my body had failed not only me.
The strange flaxen bedfellow that is hope spurring me forward from my zombie-like grief.
The ardent steadfast loyalty of friendships that rally to the challenge of straightening my jeweled crown.
Truth that is as stark as cutting white light.
Shades of peppermint and jade colored the cultivated garden that I nurtured, the only thing I could breathe life into and make grow.
Cobalt blue for moments of smooth blissful silence.
Feeling and knowing in the depths of my primordial soul that the color of laughter is a gift.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.