If Emotions Had Colors

Imagine if your heart didn’t just feel—but painted.

What if every moment of joy stained your fingertips yellow?

Every wave of sadness turned your breath blue?

What if anger shimmered in red flashes behind your eyes, and fear left purple trails in your footsteps?

That night, I imagined it.

And the world suddenly became more beautiful… and terrifying.

It started with a dream—or at least I think it was.

I was standing in the middle of an empty room. No windows. No doors. Just light, soft and endless, pouring from everywhere and nowhere.

And then came the color.

Not on the walls, not on the floor—but from me. I looked down and saw my skin glowing faintly orange. Warm. Calm. Curious.

I took a breath, and the air shifted.

My skin pulsed green.

Peace.

Then a thought crossed my mind—a memory of someone I had lost.

My hands turned deep, royal blue.

The kind of blue that weighs you down, anchors you in places you don’t want to be.

Grief.

And then, the room changed.

Suddenly, I wasn’t alone.

People appeared. No words were spoken. No faces shown. Just outlines—bodies pulsing with color like veins full of light.

One glowed crimson. Anger. Burning, loud.

Another shimmered a sickly grey, flickering with every movement. Fear. Doubt.

But one caught my attention.

They were glowing in soft lilac and white—forgiveness and acceptance.

I wanted to run to them, to absorb their colors. Maybe if I stayed close enough, their energy could repaint mine.

But I couldn’t move. Not yet.

“If emotions had colors,” a voice whispered behind me, “would you still hide yours?”

I turned. It was a version of myself. Younger. Wide-eyed. Unbroken.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Because I knew the truth.

I had been hiding my colors for years.

In the real world, people don’t see your heartbreak unless you cry.

They don’t feel your panic unless you tremble.

They don’t notice your joy unless you laugh loud enough to echo.

But in this world—in this imagined place—there was no hiding.

You wore your soul on your skin.

Every feeling. Every wound. Every dream.

I imagined walking through a city where people were streaks of color instead of smiles and fakes.

Where someone glowing pink meant new love.

Where someone pulsing orange meant healing.

Where black wasn’t evil—but numbness.

Where gold was rare, but not because it was bought—because it meant genuine, unshakable joy.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to leave that dream.

Because for once, everything felt honest.

But then… I woke up.

Back in my room.

Back in a world that asked me to say “I’m fine” when I wasn’t.

That praised emotional control and punished emotional honesty.

That told boys not to cry and girls they were “too much.”

But something stayed with me.

A flicker.

A feeling.

Now, when I feel something—I imagine the color it might leave behind.

When I miss someone, I close my eyes and see blue.

When I’m laughing with my friends, I imagine streaks of yellow trailing behind us like fireworks.

And when I cry alone, I no longer feel weak.

I imagine my tears painting the room silver—the color of vulnerability.

What if emotions had colors?

Maybe we’d be more gentle.

More understanding.

Maybe we’d stop asking people to prove their pain.

Or hide their light.

Maybe… we’d learn how to see each other.

Truly.

So if one day, you feel like you’re glowing in a shade no one else can see—

Just know someone out there has felt it too.

Even if it’s invisible to the world…

Your colors are real.

And they matter.