Teal? No, I am not teal. I’m most definitely not yellow, I’d know if I was. I’m not quite purple, and I despise pinks.

I’m kidding, of course. I live alone, so how could I despise any color?

I’m not red. That’s important to remember, because reds are...well. It’s not something that can be explained.

I’m not any kind of lively color, fortunately. All the greens and oranges and, god forbid, pinks are...different. Brighter. Not anything at all like me. Their colors have been churned into a new hue, and I am a dark, milky swirl.

I am gray. Very gray, in fact. I am the middle of two extremes. I am all darkness and all light, and I am what you see before everything and after.

Gray. Very wintry, if I do say so myself. I like the cold. It gives life a little pinch, and while some may look into the sky with disdain, hoping most likely for blue, I am still there. I am, really, what the world truly is, once you take away the backdrop. Oh, so cold. But enticing, all the same.

I deal with sorrow, mostly. Confusion and grief, believe it or not, are not my forte.

Sorrow. That’s what I like. It’s completely different from other emotions. I am glad to represent it.

Do you feel sorrowful? I’m sure you do. It may be mid-winter, or it may be mid-summer. I may be in abundance, or you may look out of your windowed boxes and see a world of greens and blues and yellows. It doesn’t matter. It’s all a trick. You have painted the world, you have left me screaming, smothered under that paint. But I am still the truth, dear reader.