I went to write about colors today and then I forgot because something else came up in my mind but I forget what the something else was.

I do remember the color thought though.

Well, the lack of color.

I thought to myself, standing in my kitchen, that I am gray. But I am not gray. Gray is sad. Thunderous. Stormy. Gloomy. An approaching storm.

I’m not that.

I’m just nothing.

But I’m not clear. Not see through. Not sheer.

That would be clean and gentle and angelic.

I’m nothing. But I have to be a color.

That’s the point of what I’m writing.

So, my color, it’s ones of flesh waiting to become dust. It’s what I’m trapped in.