Typically Atypical

Do you see what I see? Do I see what you see? United in our coloured universe. Shared spectrum of visible light.

Or is it?

Parallel perspectives. Diverging differences. Chasmed caged categorisation.

Red is red. Isn't it? Instinct. Inferno. Grounded. Greed. Passion. Pause. Ochre Earth. Martian world. Reliant rhythm of life-giving blood. Fragility realised in crimson bleeding. Sound or sweetness of The Cranberries. Innate power over one’s desires, ruby slippers clicked to home within. Rouged lips in anticipation as fragrant dark cherry Shiraz flows musically from its vessel.

This and that hold truths.

Orange is orange. Isn't it? Caution. Creative. Exhausting. Expression. Determined. Depleted. Tangerine seeded. Pumpkin harvest. Promise dawned at sunrise. Yolk of fertile prospects. Mouth-watering melon and bitter aperitifs on balmy Mediterranean afternoons. Staged amber glow silhouetting a raised jazzed soul as fingerprints dance to delight on monochrome keys.

This and that hold truth.

Yellow is yellow. Isn't it? Confidence. Cowardice. Joy. Jealousy. Wealth. Waste. Golden wheat. Soured lemon. Daffodil signalled spring. Melting mellow butter. Youthful sunflowers spin seeking sunlight. Grains of sand carried and crunched underneath bared footsteps. Streams of ascending bubbles fizzing as champagne is cheered in connected celebration.

This and that hold truths.

Green is green. Isn't it? Emerald. Envy. Sustainable. Sickness. Nature. Nurture. Flourishing forests. Submerged seagrasses. Smoking sage in ceremony. Healing heart of Mother Gaia. Seeking growth, finding shamrock eyed monsters. Chorus of rustling elder trees in symphony with the crispness of morning's breeze. Unmistakable comfort and scent of pine needles falling to the floor of a fire lit room in the depths of winter.

This and that hold truths.

Blue is blue. Isn't it? Sky. Sea. Dedication. Depth. Calm. Communication. Bluesy tunes. Melancholy moods. Indigo stained hands of the poet. Stillness of sapphire mirrored fjords. Perspective and awe of faraway gasses glittering, littering the midnight expanse above. Sunlight refracting in performance on the surface of salty shallow azure waters.

This and that hold truths.

Purple is purple. Isn't it? Faith. Fleeting. Power. Purpose. Extravagance. Enlightenment. Lavender dreams. Ripened plums. Intuitive creation or mysterious unfolding. Tyrian dyed cloth signalling pious regality. Violet or violent delights of an approaching thunderstorm. Hope inspiring feat of a lilac desert bloom thriving in a barren furnaced landscape.

This and that hold truths.

Pink is pink. Isn't it? Tickled. Tainted. Radical. Romance. Pretty. Placid. Unicorn mane. Squealing pig. Sole of a new-born. Sweet sugar crystalised in candied floss. Smooth satin ballet slippers, masking rough calloused peach toes. Gendered suppression perpetuated by rose tinted perfection and suffocating materialism.

This and that hold truths.

Like the rainbowed soft, subtle, striations witnessed at sunset, always shifting, never static. So too the blurred colours of an individual's experience cannot be so easily compartmentalized.

Colour transcends visual medium. A common construct. A language with which to exchange wordless feelings.

Every sense borrows from its palette.

Each being, an antenna receiving shared wavelengths yet processing infinitely individual responses shaped by kaleidoscopic fingerprints of experience.

Open and accepting, you cannot truly see the colours I see.

We are magic because we sense differently. We sense differently because we are magic.

Unified by inherent diversity, I am, as you are, typically atypical.