I picked a book today. I found it lying on the middle of a busy street. The cars flew by and blurred into different colors. Blue, green, red, white, yellow, green, blue. I stepped into the street, fearless, between the cars, and picked the book.
The cover was blurry. White and black. There was not a title, not an author and not color. I felt this pang inside, like my soul was troubled because something was really wrong. I opened the book and started reading. I understood. I understood why I was so scared. It was my life and it was gray. I had lost every color. They have run away with all my hopes and dreams.
I look around. The cars never stop. I feel trapped. I need air, but I can´t breath. I put away the book into my bag and get of the street. I stay on the sidewalk watching all the colors blur into one.
So now I live in scales of gray.
"That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong." - F. Scott Fitzgerald
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