the length of waves

I spend a decent amount of time thinking about color. The way the sky sometimes looks like that cup I use to wash my brushes off in spilled across it. The way lavender became my favorite because I took an oversized sweatshirt of my mom’s on a trip that took me across the country and away from her side. How the blood in my body came out a different red when they punctured my artery as opposed to what the color would look like to save someone’s life. But much more frequently than that, I think about how somehow, somewhere along the way, we all accepted blue to be blue, lavender to be lavender, and red to be red, without ever really being able to know what these words mean in colors to somebody else. Who is to say that that tree we both can concretely say is green, isn’t really what one of us identifies as purple? We live in constant agreement that we know what the other is experiencing under the circumstance of impossibility. We will never experience color through someone else’s eyes; color will, ultimately, never be black and white.

Personally, I think this is the beauty of the human experience. How someone can be right next to me, living things we both have words for, but in such an insanely different capacity. Joy, movement, the color blue. How in some sort of imperfect perfection we are existing in the same moment, but differently.

I live in a constant state of overwhelm; my involuntary desire to dissect every process weighs heavily on my mind. I often find myself drowning in the curiosity of the deconstruction of goosebumps, grins, the human touch. I think about oceans and depths and the perpetual motion that brings the water to the sand. That the ocean is just a multitude of drops and that the sand is just parts of something that has been broken down over. And over. And over again.

And so is the same of humans.

In the ways that wavelengths measure color and the length of waves flow endlessly, we continue to navigate to the best of our abilities. We celebrate the ebbs and flows because it means we’re alive. We celebrate the stillness because we have finally learned how.

I don’t know what this is here. My human experience. My break down over. And over. And over again. My perpetual motion. And maybe, just maybe, the same color blue.