The Color of Solitude

by Juan Angel

I thought my walls were painted with the color of solitude.
I took a bucket and brush to it
Shades and shades
The final product
Still lacked color.

I thought the city would recognize me
I introduced myself
Spent days deciding how to spend days
In malls or crowded venues
But the others all lacked color.

It was a pressing question
Of what I would do when I turned the book’s last page
When the light crept from the park
And I was forced to return to a littered room
That was painted the color of loneliness.

I met others
We drank and we sang
I woke with headaches and stomachaches
And everything still lacked color.

Come out more, Come out with us
They said.

I was with them
We were all together
Because we were all alone.

The mirror insinuated
From the mottled features peering out
That my flesh lacked any color.

Whenever I was with me
I would be alone.

So I left myself
Glaring from a foggy mirror
And went to search for color.