My favorite color is gray. Gray, like the mist that rolls into the hills and settles down outside my window on cold foggy days. Gray is the color of hazy shapes and blurred vision, of people feeling their way aimlessly through familiar landscapes that unexpectedly transformed into strange, unknown territories sometime during the night.
Gray was the color of his eyes in the wintertime when the bright blue faded away. His eyes were the color of regret and boredom after he realized something that was once there had been lost, something that no one noticed until it was gone, a spark, and with it gone, so was he.
Gray is the avoidance of conflict, the color of opinion and disagreement, of hard choices and negotiation, of understanding that the line between right and wrong is blurred and crooked and trampled by mistakes and missteps and misfortunes.
Gray is the color of raw emotion and painful numbness and water as it flows over rocks washing away the dirt and filth that builds up over time. Gray is the color of the sky and the ground and the backs of my eyelids. It is the color I see, the color I hear, the color I feel and as I make my way though this gray existence, I am reminded of dusty gray houses and low hanging skies, of winding asphalt roads and faded gray lives.
Wow! Thank you so much, 
