It’s Gray Today

A life before color.

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It’s gray today. In the dimness, my body slows, feet resting quietly on the antique marble table. My heart beats beneath yesterday’s T-shirt. The red fabric clings to my swollen stomach, emphasizing the rounded flesh. But even it looks understated in the ashen light, lazily drifting through the blinds.

In the dullness, I think of you. You exist in gray, with subdued light filtering through the thin folds of your eyelids. You don’t know color.

Outside, the anemic sky calls to me, gray clouds heavy with the promise of rain. I like days like this. The world is a womb, its offspring returned to their primordial states — before existence, before color.

But tomorrow, the world is born anew. Blue skies and yellow sunlight will shock the senses. The trees will impress with their vibrant hues, each green lovelier than the next.

But you don’t know this yet. All you know is warmth, contentment, and gray. I touch your world with my fingertips, wondering if you can feel me. Part of me is relieved that you are still here. In the gray, you are safe.

But I know you can’t stay. Life will come. Color will come. You will awaken to blueberries and brown dirt, red knees and wet cheeks, blue oceans and white sand. The world will become more, and so will you.

So, little one, enjoy the gray. Enjoy the before. Relish the safety and comfort that your hueless world brings. But just know that color is just around the corner. Life is just around the corner. And I will be there when your world is no longer gray.