Even after a day, full of colours, I find myself bland . Every colour taken out of the day, where you can't make out the edges of shapes, just a plane.
I find myself left out, abandoned by everything that could make me happy, namely a few colours which my state is devoid of.
It's not a good feeling, while colours of blue and black with a blank white hole inside. I like it filled with different splashes here and there, cheerful.
But no colour wants to stay with me for long.
For bland colours are unaware of their presence, of how they envelope everything into their void as one.