Black. That’s the colour of those eyes that looked right back at me, their expression defiant, yet tinged with a sense of desperation. Black, also the colour of the bags under those tired eyes, amplified by the harsh florescent lighting in the bathroom. Black, the colour of that girl’s hair, unruly and uncombed, and sticking out at odd angles. It was a while before I recognised this girl, and even longer to accept that this was what I had become. Black is the colour that I feel.
Black is more than the tail end of the colour spectrum. It is the colour of half my wardrobe, replacing the bright colours of childhood. The same colour that helps me blend into the shadows also form the make-up that causes punk rockers to stand out. It is the colour of mourning, the sombre attire of our family at my grandmother’s funeral. Yet it continues to be the colour that epitomises classiness and formality, the colour that exudes confidence and power. There is only one shade of black, but its the most expressive of colours.
“Fade to black” is a familiar term in film and television, a signal that something has reached the end. Black is the colour I find comfort in, the darkness a touch of finality giving me respite from the day. It’s embrace allows me to put down the mask of apathy I wear during the day. It is the horde of emotions that churn inside me, fighting to escape. It is the colour of my darkest secrets and desires. It is also the colour that makes life simple, the colour that takes away the anxiety of choice. It is binary. Unlike me, black is versatile. It goes well with everything.
I look up to this colour of power and emptiness, the colour that embodies both my pain and ambition.
Via Daily Prompt:Black