Full Color

Life is not black or white.

And it sure as hell isn’t gray.

Gray is the color of waiting rooms,

of half-alive days,

of monotone survival.

Flat.

Predictable.

A single note held too long.

But life—real life—

is never a single note.

It is a spectrum that bleeds

and blends

and bursts

through every shade imaginable.

There are days painted

in blazing red—

anger or passion,

the kind that rises too fast

or burns exactly where it should.

Then comes the smoke-blue ache of loss,

soft and muted,

like grief trying to stay quiet

even as it takes up the whole room.

A random kitten video

slips a streak of sunshine yellow

across your chest—

a quick, bright reminder

that joy doesn’t need permission.

And green shows up too—

envy, jealousy, longing—

the colors we pretend we don’t feel

but absolutely do.

There are moments

when the colors blur together—

purple born out of bruised tenderness,

orange arriving from laughter

you didn’t expect,

a sudden wash of white

when everything feels too bright to name.

And sometimes

there is no color at all—

just stillness,

a blank canvas of numbness

waiting quietly for life

to return to the palette.

Some days

the palette is chaos.

Some days

it’s harmony.

And some days

it’s every emotion layered at once—

like heartbreak,

or parenting,

or loving someone you can’t quite reach.

A strange mix of love and fear,

hope and confusion,

devotion and doubt—

a whole watercolor of being human.

Because this is the truth:

we don’t live in neat lines

or tidy categories.

We live in gradients,

in contradictions.

It’s the blending and brightening,

the fading and returning,

the quiet shifts in shade

that remind us of our shared humanity.

And me?

I’m learning to live

in full color—

to let every hue have its place,

to let each emotion arrive and go,

to let the spectrum of my days

be exactly what it is:

alive, honest,

and beautifully human.