I Have Never Seen a Gray Sky

I have never seen a gray sky. There was always some semblance of a memory of the colors that existed before we were left with simply gray. These were the days when possibilities were of an endless variety and my heart wasn't shattered into crimson fragments. I searched for any trace of some hint of the celestial blue that was present this morning, when the heavens were the perfect flush of daydreams and sunshine still existed in my world. Yet there was no tinge of color to be found other than gray.

Gray was not a pigment that I liked to see on my paint palette. It muted the vibrancy of my creative senses. It was a dull and lackluster shade and I was a multicolored gal, who couldn't live without her pastel pinks and royal purples. Every day with you was a scintillating escapade that required intense, rich pigments to illustrate the moments we spent in our rainbow nirvana.

Like the time we laid in your neighbors garden in May. You gingerly placed my head on your chest as we observed the scenery we submerged ourselves in. Buds beginning their bloom into fruition, just like our romance, surrounded us. There was every color imaginable in this collection of flowers. The artist within me couldn't resist the urge to hoard their radiance home to add to my repertoire. I gathered the petals that trickled down from the security of their branches. But something flashed in the corner of my eye and I then grazed over to you. The way the light hit the contoured edges of your face helped me come to a realization.

You would be the perfect addition. The shade that couldn't be created by the mere combining of colors. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. You were a touch of yellow optimism with an undertone of a pure green nature. A drop of orange happiness with specks of white innocence. You were a one of a kind find. The stain I wanted to grace every surface of the canvas that was...me.

Then, your vibrant tint, faded. And on that day. Today. You wore gray.

You were always the dichromatic type. The first moment I laid eyes on you, you were the spitting image of a chessboard. Classically striking yet modest. I admired that. The simplicity of you was comforting. Initially, I believed that I would immerse you into the polychromatic sea, yet remain the only color you would ever need. But today, you wore gray.

I wasn't aware that you even owned any hues other than black and white. I have rummaged through your closet a million times before and never did I find any garment to suggest otherwise. I came to the conclusion that without me, they offered nothing to you. I guess that goes to show that I didn't really know you. Looking back now, gray would be your product if you mixed them together. We used to mix together.

We used to be us. No longer were we two separate entities. We metamorphosized into one hand. A single hand. The single hand. Our single hand.

Our hand would paint every promise we whispered into the translucent air. Every stroke was a "good night" text message, a name for our future son, or a sacred "I love you" that we let be drifted away to a place where they could never be discovered by anyone who didn't have our sight. The sight that appeared in the dark that night you stole my first kiss. I didn't know the warmth that came from your chocolate eyes could come from your lips. Or that the overused misty rose tone from my palette could appear, in all its glory, upon my cheeks as I said, "I told you I'd be bad at it." You were the shade of reassurance as you placed your hand on my hand, thus creating our hand.

Now you have your own hand. Your own single hand that you hid away in the pocket of your gray hoodie.

I am not partial to gray. It disgusts me. I was an artist of the permanent and concrete and gray was too abstract of an idea for me. It prances around with this "not quite this, not quite that" façade. If you're not something, are you nothing? Were we nothing?

You didn't even look me in the eye as you stole my color wheel. Swaying back and forth as you divulged your black truth, draining every ounce of color I had accumulated before you became the only paint pot I used. Sighing in relief as you finally gained your balance; as if the weight of my multicolored love was too much of a burden for you. You turned on your heels and left me as monochromatic as a corpse; I guess I got my answer.

I have never seen a gray sky. There was always some semblance of a memory of the colors that existed before we were left with this hideous gray. That is until today. Lesson learned: never say never.