The vibrant blue jumped out at me like the time I jumped out the water, nearly drowning.
However, just because that memory is sewn into my mind, I remember the good times.
As for yellow, 59, this reminded me of the year I had fetched for happiness; for the essentials
in which were enclosed by shutters, covered in depression and draped in reality.
I found yellow outshining all the dark tones that bled through memory lane; a stretched aisle.
But the true highlight, 31, was the memory that cannot be tolerated; a berry attaching color.
It engraves a place in my heart. The triggering flashbacks that even a non-epileptic person could befall
to an epileptic frenzy. The shade before my retinal is the color of the cranberry on Thanksgiving; of my aunts flower vase, dabbling in the presence of an unaware family that are soon to find out she has cancer. It beholds the color of the chair I sat in across from the bedside of my uncle; unconscious and unresponsive; brother kneeling before him; daughter off in the corner not knowing how to assert her
physical to a spiritual presence; wife caressing his head of hair, gradually fading into a grey, an environmental void. We hoped we would always be able to avoid.
The biggest losses, in the smallest span of time occurred against my will, my power; the same color that the girl I once loved showcased in a convincing fashion became the same color a witted rose, being leached of it’s pigment, walked parallel with my parent’s state of condoning. A foul segment and a gut wrenching gnash producing tastelessness, unperceivable abilities, a scent of refusal, and the feint wail from a train running off its tracks, and somehow reaching a better destination. This color became a symbol of hope. It never promised me happiness or peace, but it promised me something new. Enough with the darkness, a dark color was proceeded by light.