There seems to be no way but to choose. Inside there is there is pink, outside are many colors, resting along, bleeding into each other, capable of turning new, ceasing their concern for hues and tinges.

Inside me is the color of love. Which has no color. So of course I must be speaking of odd feelings When in fact, its a color that has yet been seen.

I know what it feels like. I just can’t see it yet.