If I was a color, I would be white, vast in my blankness. Pure, whole, virginal, predictable . . . Boring. The colors thrown at me didn’t bleed into my canvas and leave a mark. The colors washed out with nothing but water. That’s what made this story so hard to remember. It’s hard facing a mirror and seeing all you are made of and all you couldn’t absorb. But I’m open to be changed. To be in a place where I can hold all the colors I love at once, appreciate what they are, and learn from them. I’m open to new beginnings.
