My soul resides in colours

I was 17 and surrounded by the grey walls of high school when I began to discover who I was. Her fiery hair passed me in the halls and I wished I could burn as brightly as her, wished I could walk beside her. Now the pink, purple, blue sunsets call out to me and I think of a woman with golden hair who dances under grey storm clouds. She's untouchable, and grey has a new meaning to me. I used to want to live in yellows, to be a bright source to those around me, and carry around sunflowers, but I've learned that my soul resides in quiet shades of brown. It's the colour of the dirt and soil when I run through a forest. It's the colour of my birthmark I pretend marked me as a witch in another life. It's the colour of old leather-bound books I long to be surounded by. Opening them and breathing them in is like smelling time itself. Brown is the colour of the coffee I have an addiction to that sometimes keeps me up well into the night, but that time of day brings me closer to the moon. Her silvery presence is a constant and reminds me that I am a part of a universe bigger than myself.