Every object and every living being has its own color.
It reflects it individually and cannot be changed.
Accordingly, the apple tree in my garden is refreshingly green and my writing pad has a neutral brown. Books have different beige tones depending on their age and use.
People with an open character, usually shine in different shades of a sunny yellow, others, mostly irritable, usually shimmer in a warning orange.
For me it is easier than others to judge strangers by seeing their colors, but as with everything, my perception also has disadvantages.
I'm a freak.
I am met with rejection, just like everyone who is different experiences rejection. I should never have told them what I see. Telling you about the colors was my biggest mistake. They asked, pretended to be interested, I was happy, until they dropped their facade and pulled on me.
With them I had irritated the colors that had warned me, it was still new to me and they did not know how to interpret. Now I know better, I should never have trusted the dark, scary purple.
I've never seen anything change its color before, except for this one particular thing.
The living.
Like everything else, life has its own color. At first I thought it was a bright, all-pervasive blue, but over time it has faded to a dull gray.
Why?
At first I saw all the beautiful things in the world, the flowers, the animals, but with each further rejection I experienced, these things faded.
The gray of life.
Life is a different color for everyone, and what other color could life be for me?
What does a world look like in which one cannot be who one really is?

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huhu ^^
is dedicated to this short-OS Claerschhen, which had its birthday yesterday and is a reader of all of my prose works!
Thank you!
As you know, the OS is very ... I'll call it special ...
well, I can't change it ^^ °
glg Kari