Grey.
My day, the sky, my heart…
They’re as clear as a foggy crystal ball.
My breath, my skin, my face,
cold and stinging from the howling wind outside.

Grey…
Will I ever be red again?
or pink? or golden?
Will I ever blush at the promise of affection?
tickled pink at the thought of someone?
or shall I remain bland, black, blue?

Grey!
I never wanted to be as sad as a shade…
Haunting the halls of my past…
When will I ever be truly happy?
Or will I remain forever balancing,
on the knife edge of sadness and memories?

Grey.

I’d rather be golden.