Bitterness is like self-inflicted paralysis. 

My life is gray cellophane.

My life is a dowdy charcoal overcoat, damp and mildewed. My life is a drab white ceiling.  My life is the silver mist on a foggy day, waiting for the to sun peak out and shine through the clouds. My life is a black TV.

And I just want to live. I want to live life and I want to live it loudly-in Technicolor.

I want to see every color in the universe and even colors I can’t begin to dream of. I want to become blinded by the brilliance of life.  I want to be consumed by the hue, shade, tint, tone, pigment, vividness of the splendor around me. 

And sometimes I close my eyes and just imagine my life, complete with epic soundtrack and I enjoy where I am, who I am, and especially the people I am with.  It’s a preview for the best film of the summer, but it only exists in my mind.  I can hear the grown-up gales of laughter, I can see my tear stained face, I can taste the energy of the moment for an unforgettable, emotional second. Then the preview ends and the lights fade and all of a sudden I am back in the dark, damp, mediocrity of the dusk to sit back and watch the rest of my life flash by my eyes. I smell the dank evening sun setting through the windows of my lonely tenth floor apartment. 

And I realize that the colors I see in my mind are people, people with faces, and personalities, and voices. And these people bring with them emotions and memories and situations and, and…life. They effect me and I them, and together we learn and live and move and breathe and be the body we were created to be. A body entwined one with all the rest, never intended to be apart. Never meant to be separated. For a body was not created to be alone.

My life is gray cellophane.