Creative Writing,  My Writing

It’s The Colours

In a way there is a part of me that should have seen it coming.

The signs were all there. Have been for pretty much the entire time that I have known her. Which at this point is just over 2 decades. And for most of them she’s been partially in love with someone else. It’s not her fault.

It’s the colours.

She got them young. Latched onto them. Even when the person who was supposed to be making her world brighter very much didn’t. That’s not her fault. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not her fault.

She didn’t know any better. None of us did really. It wasn’t even something that had been mentioned to us when it happened to her. She had to figure it out on her own. There was only so much her dad was willing to tell her and her mum shut down completely and avoided confronting the problem at all.

So it stuck to it. She pinned her hopes on him and eventually he came around. Once it became ‘cool’ for his friends to start talking about their soulmates and once one of his finally seemed to be on the colours train he finally let himself accept what she had known for years.

They were fated for each other.

There was a part of me that wanted to hate her for letting him into her life after he had spent so many years almost destroying it. But then that part of me gets over it relatively quickly when I remember that this is the way it is supposed to be.

She was always supposed to end up with him. He was always her future. Her way into getting everything that we all want in this world.

Colour.

I was starting to accept that mine would just never get here. That I was destined to live my life in black and white, and while it sucked, I also accepted that it was just going to be the way it was for me. They had died young, they lived on the other side of the world, or just in another country and I don’t travel. The stars weren’t going to align for me and I was fine with that.

I was fine with always being the bridesmaid. With being the one who got to hear all about what the colour orange looks like and how it is somehow different for everyone. I wouldn’t know.

Or at least I didn’t know.

What green was. Or blue.

I could imagine because when it’s something that you don’t have and then suddenly you do it’s pretty much all you can talk about. It’s all my friends talk about. I’ve heard about from them all. It’s helped me build an image as to what the world actually looks like even though it had yet to fully reveal it full technicolour glory to me.

It’s doing it now.

It’s not allowing for time or for anything as normal as the grieving process.

It’s just happening now. We’re both ignoring the elephant in the room.

I want to know how she feels about it all but can’t ask her because then I would be acknowledging it. I want to talk to her about the cool new things that I am discovering because I can finally see parts of the world in colour for the first time in 30 years. But I can’t.

I can’t talk to anyone about it because if I do they’ll start to ask who it is. Who did I finally bump into that meant that the colours arrived into my life. And I can’t tell them the truth.

I can’t tell them that it’s our friend.

My best friend.

The one who just lost her whole life and is still trying to put herself back together.

I can’t tell them that I waited all this time only to find out that it would finally come to me in one of the worst ways.

I thought this whole thing was supposed to be one of the greatest things that happened to you. To finally to be able to see in colour and discover that with the person that you universe told you was yours.

But it’s not.

I’m alone.

And apparently someone’s second chance.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.

And the one person that I want to talk to about this with I can’t because she’s the cause and acknowledging it would throw our world out of balance.

I want to give her time, to do what she has to do. But I also want to talk to someone about it.

She’s the only person who would understand. Who would be excited for me. Except she can’t be. Because it’s her. And I’m now a reminder of what she’s lost and can never have again.

This is supposed to be great. It’s billed as great. Everyone talks about how great it is.

Right now, on my own, trying to figure out what the hell to call the colour of the sky right now because I don’t actually have a name for it, it feels anything but great.

Someone is trying to get out of a writing rut right now and get myself back in the zone, so the next few of these might have this kind of vibe. It’s to do with The Thing.

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