i miss the way i use to write.
with such overwhelming emotion, borne by anger.
i was always faced with questions about mortality. not of my own, but of others, which made me think of mine.
in that sense, i was in purgatory. i did not know what else to think about, and how else to feel...
...but sad, angry, and grey.
i was unaffected by surrounding happiness, excitement, bliss, but always empathetic towards melancholy, hurt, pessimism.
my husband dragged me out - kicking and screaming - from the abyss that was my life.
before him, i had never known of anything beyond those shades of grey.
so my life with eric was, literally, a new journey. for us, and especially, for me.
i had to re-learn emotions that were hidden far back in some chamber of my brain.
i stopped writing. because i knew it was never going to be the same.
though sometimes, when i'm left to my own defenses for days at a time, i'd remember how grey looked like. and start to write.
i'm happy seeing the occasional grey, and feeling angry.
i'm happy feeling melancholic.
of course, i'm glad eric's around at times to make me see that sunshine yellow instead.
and, for the record, he has never been the cause of any shade of grey i see.
i feel, oddly, at peace now.
guess what color i am today.
