This Kaleidoscope Life

When you’re little, they don’t tell you about all the colors you’ll feel. They tell you things are black and white. Right or wrong. Yes or no. Stop or go. Short or tall. Rich or poor. Fat or thin. Love or hate.

There’s no in between until you start to realize there is.

You learn about the murky smokes and the muted charcoals. You learn how they feel swishing around inside of you like a swelling sea, unpredictable, unsure.

You learn what it feels like when all those grays -that rest between black and white- crack open and start to bleed color into your veins.

The iridescent ruby rage that boils in the pit of your gut.

The cerulean sadness that swells in your soul.

The canary-tinted bursts of confusion that chip at your rib cage.

The terracotta-tinged disgust that smashes into you and knocks you off your feet.

The periwinkle panic that pinches your skin.

The metallic punch of regret right-hooking you square in the face.

The murky quagmire green of jealousy pulling at your lungs, stealing your breath.

The all-consuming white of loneliness.

The black void that fills you to the brim when that loneliness seems never-ending.


The inky motionlessness of voluntary solitude.

The bright stillness of white when you enjoy a moment.

The minty taste of laughter that tickles your tongue until your stomach muscles hurt.

The shiny, silvery surprise sending sizzles of electricity through your blood.

The blushed pleasure that pools all your blood in your cheeks.

The fire-like hues of hope that dance across your eyes.

The buttery bliss that sizzles under your skin.

The azure comfort that drips through you, kissing every organ.

The crimson love that bursts from your heart and flecks onto every other color you’ve ever felt.

You learn that life is a kaleidoscope, always moving, always changing, always brimming with endless colors. They might be bright, they might be dull.

They might be a once-in-a-lifetime asteroid across the sky of your life, they might be glitter that makes up the nightly constellations, present and constant.

Whatever, however, you should see, feel, taste, experience them all and know that none of them, no color, no feeling, no moment, is forever.

You got this.

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Astrid is a twenty-something madness who likes to write short stories that are, kind of like her, barely there. Her soul is happiest when she is reading, or being around people who lift up her spirits.

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