I used to love to paint with your colour. I'd go day in and day out, from one canvas to the other, using different shades of you to paint all the kinds of pictures one could imagine.

I never had to look for inspiration, I never forgot ideas. It all came crashing back when I looked at you.

One day, I woke up and couldn't see your colour. I was colour blind. I was colour blind only in your colour.

All the paintings, drawings and canvases that had been made of your colour, hung all over my walls, didn't make sense. They were all dull and grey. I knew other colours existed but I never tried experimenting with them before.

I tried searching for your colour in my memories, through the words you said to me, through the things you touched. I searched high and low but never found it. And whenever I thought I would see your colour again, my eyes reverted back to reality.

Now your colour is just a memory, a shade which will only exist inside my head... those shades I loved, the pigments I craved to make every time I stroked my brush. All of that just exists in my head now. It's been years and your colour isn't as bright as I thought my memory would remind me of.

I paint with different colours now, I paint with all the colours now except yours.

All those nights I spent painting, trying to find your colour, only opened my eyes - opened my eyes to see all the other colours I didn't know existed.

Now my walls are covered with splashes of colour and I'm happy. I'm content.

I'm colourful.

Author: Arushi Deshpande

Editor: Aastha More

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