The Feeling of Colors

After not writing for a very long time, I sat down last night and wrote this story. I felt so inspired, and then so happy about my decision to write again. I hope you can feel the colors too. :)

Today. 10 AM. Rain is falling hard as the gray clouds roll over the dark sky. Off in the distance are lighter shades of gray surrounding the almost invisible mountains due to the lingering fog. Today, the sky was in perfect comparison to a black and white gradient. I stood in awe, coffee in hand. Feeling inspired.

Our front porch, a lovely shade of turquoise, was covered. My inspiration tugged and pulled at me to gather my painting supplies and head out to enjoy my morning painting on the porch. I took advantage of my “lazy day” and set out to create. After months of setting my passion on the shelf, maybe I would find inspiration in the blue-gray weather. Maybe I could paint the perfect canvas.

I grabbed my gloomy blues, my grays, my whites, and several shades of black paint. Of course, cup of coffee is empty. Refill. Ahhh. My coffee is a very light shade of brown, because my coffee can never be too sweet. There’s no such thing as coffee that is too sweet. The sound of the rain put me in a daze as I stared at the blank, white canvas sitting before me. I thought of what I wanted to paint, but I couldn’t pour the paints onto my paint pallet.

I thought of what I could use my grays for. Nothing came to mind. Instead, the color red flooded my veins. The color red surged through my body. I felt passion. I felt determination. I felt anger; angry at myself for giving up my passion to paint. I felt desire. I felt love. Love. Without thinking, I picked up the red paint, picked up the brush, and blindly began to paint what I felt, not what I saw.

Then I thought of all of my shades of blues, but the gloomy feel of the rainy day was quickly washed away by the warm feeling of sunshine. Everything I saw was yellow. Even though the rainy day caused the temperature to be cool, my skin felt so sunkissed. I felt happy. I felt energized. I felt hopeful. Again, an impulse took over my body and I began to paint the canvas with yellow. Then orange. Then green. And all the while, I didn’t even know what I was painting.

It was almost like I had literally been blindfolded. It’s almost as if someone set me down, blinded me, and told me to paint how I was feeling.

I couldn’t see, but slowly I could see what I thought that I had painted. Before I could see, I felt the reds, and the yellows, and the blues. Not the gloomy blues though. I felt the power of the red blood pulsing through my heart as the yellow warmth on my skin and the lovely blue made me feel like I had finally painted the perfect canvas.

I opened my eyes, and there was you. It was 10 AM, and you woke me up because you knew I would be mad if I slept all day. The warm touch of your skin made me so happy, so joyful. You said “You must have been dreaming, because you were snoring.”

“I thought it was raining,” I said. You chuckled.

Your blue eyes took hold of me, like they have since the first day we met. I felt how deep the love we share truly is, and how I know that I am safe in your arms.

You laid down next to me, your nose touching mine as we laughed and kissed like the days when the butterflies fluttered in my stomach so bad you could probably tell. They still do, but I’ve become better at hiding it.

As we laid there, my heart began to beat faster. And faster. Then, I began to realize why I couldn’t paint the perfect canvas with grays, gloomy blues, and blacks.

The perfect canvas was us. The lovely reds, the happy yellows, the trusting and deepness of the blues. Like painting a canvas, you paint by layering on different colors and different shades of paint. It took the reds, the yellows, and the blues to paint the perfect ‘me and you.’