Try and decorate these plain walls with splashes of color, my finger painting turns into rainbows.
The brilliant color is only temporary, my mood isn't colorful today.
I blink.
Indistinguishable grays gather and drip down the walls and take out all my lovely reds.
Puddles on the carpet.
I watch it soak in and turn the ugly, puke green, into a solid I Can Deal With Gray.
One color. One emotion.
I like dull.
I reach out my hand like an unfamiliar toddler and press into the wet paint.
My identity is gone, prints are masked.
I press it against the wall.
I step back and watch the magic happen.
One hand print, stems, flows, grows. My fingers extend and curl into vines and hug each other. The design sprawls across the room. Rotate to keep up with it. Monochromatic scheme, but I like it.
Dark grays, my hand, light grays, my fingers.
Loops and crosses.
The movement stops.
The last loops connect.
I smile.
The shades of blue twinkle in my eyes against the gray.
Foreshadow.
I sit.
I cross my legs.
My hands are in my lap but usually clean.
Eyes and ears within the Walls.
I laugh. I laugh again deeper, from the bottom of my chest. Wholesome. I laugh louder. My eyes crinkle with laughter.
The ocean blues run out like veins onto the gray walls.
Pupils of black spill.
Pure white spatters.
They react with the laughter. New lines, dips, and curves.
Blue, white, black, and gray. Louder. More blue.
I Can Deal With Blue.
I like this story. I stand. It is quiet. Movement stops again.
This is better. I am satisfied.
I leave.
