A Walk in The Greys

As I reached my right arm into the back of the gate to unlatch it, there was a little voice in my head that went “Not yet, you aren’t ready to go in yet.”
So I gently withdrew my hand and decided to take a stroll around the narrow but well built and maintained street that I called home for three months now.
I hadn’t really taken the time before to walk the several crosses of 13th main that cut into each other before you had even taken twenty steps, much like my thoughts, and it could be said that I was setting out to trod foreign territory.
Maybe it was the dark night sky or the dim lighting but suddenly everything seemed lacklustre. There was nothing quaint or picturesue as I first imagined when I laid eyes on my to-be house. There were no endless lanes I could walk into and dream about life’s infinite possibilities. There were croony little houses packed too close to each other, looking neither old enough to be enchanting nor new enough to be exciting. Everything seemed to merge into each other in an apathetic blur of beige and maroon, small structures canopied by a sky that suddenly seemed all too encroaching.
There was nothing novel here, just heartbreak meshed into heartbreak. So close together that I didn’t even have time to catch my breath and realize what was happening.
How did I wind up here, yet again?
I never saw life in black and white. I lived to capture those moments where there was neither darkness nor light, just a human infusion of the two.
Why did people have to label everything, place every relation and experience within century old boxes, I always wondered. After all, we live most of our lives in the grey.
But suddenly binaries seemed important. Suddenly the injustice of the greys darted into my heart with much too precise a dagger and I felt tears roll down my cheeks as I took a right from 10th cross and walked into 11th and Adam Levine asked him to un-kiss me.
I didn’t ask for definitions, for a black and white, not because I was afraid to but because I was too drawn to the ashes and the smokey, to the silver and the metal. Black and white had been tried and tested for ages but what laid within the hues inbetween? What would the experience feel like? How would I define it?
The greys are for romantics, those who want to dip themselves into a million shades of heartbreak before they discover their white. Unfortunately, I was always one of them.
And as I walked to the end of the lane, turning my head down so as not to allow the stranger passing by to see my tears, I absolutely abhored myself for it.
I took immaculate pleasure in seeking out the undefined because I thought it meant that I would get a chance to define it. And I did. I realized right then that I defined it as an open door to walk out with no notice, and enter with no questions asked. I defined it as a leeway to cheat on me because as a friend recently pointed out, hey! It couldn’t be called cheating within greys. I defined it as being able to reject me sixty times before I even told you I liked you. I defined it, and I was sure as hell done defining it.
As I turned to walk back, the lights went out and I was left standing in the darkness, in the black.
I was broken and afraid as I hit on my torch and scurried along, retracing my steps back home.


One Comment Add yours

  1. Ryle Gale says:

    Your little brother is praying for you. God bless you lot of joy, success, happiness and everything you want always. May God give you my happiness also 🙂 I hope you’ll be feeling great very soon, take care 🙂

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