"Black, I suppose."
She thought about this. "But what kind of black? Black like a crow's feathers? Or nightfall? Or-"
"No," I cut her off, frustrated, "black like in your room, alone at night. Like the deepest part of the ocean where just looking at it you feel like you will lose yourself. Like nothingness, the unknown."
Confusion clouded her face and envy filled my depths. She lived in a world where that colour wasn't a feeling, where it didn't exist, her next words confirmed it.
"I don't think I've ever felt that colour."
"How I wish I could stay here," I whispered with a voice like glass.
"You can." She murmured, her face filled with warmth.
"I can't," I whispered, longing clouding my voice, "what about all those I love?"
She hesitated, "Love? What colour is that?"
My breath ran away, and in an instant my envy transformed into pity. After much thought, I spoke, "Well, I suppose, it's every colour."
The girl who spoke in colours searched my eyes for the hidden meaning that she couldn't reach, not here.
"Do you mean white?"
"No," I choked on the words, "not at all...I'm sorry, I- I don't think there is a colour."
And with that I leant down to kiss her on both cheeks before walking away. And as soon as she was out of sight I began to run. And as I ran I sobbed, my heart cracking open, emotions filling my lungs. I prayed I could find my way back home and no longer feared the monster that had chased me here.
Because feeling horrible beats feeling nothing.
Because I didn't want to close off.
Because that poor girl would never feel love because she lived in a world without hate.
Beacuse I'd rather be fucked up anyday.