Falling Back Into Colour

I was drifting through a grayscale world,

where every heartbeat sounded hollow,

like an echo bouncing off the wrong walls,

like a promise made in smoke and then forgotten.

I swear I tried to keep myself steady,

but the nights kept swallowing my footsteps,

pulling me into places where even the lights

felt too tired to shine.

Every voice around me blurred into static,

every word I said felt like it broke in the air

before it reached anybody.

I was alive, yeah…

but I wasn’t living.

Just a glitch in the background,

lost between who I was and who I pretended to be.

Then something shifted—

not loud, not sudden—

just this tiny pull in my chest,

like someone tugging on a thread

I thought had snapped years ago.

A warmth spreading slow through the cold,

a colour leaking back into the picture

I thought was already finished.

And now I’m falling back into colour,

letting the neon bleed into my bones.

I’m breathing deeper than I did last summer,

learning the rhythm of being alone.

But it don’t hurt like before—

no, this time it feels like healing.

I’m falling back into colour,

finally feeling something real again.

There were days I thought the grey would win,

that I’d stay stuck in the ruins of myself,

walking through memories like broken glass,

cutting my feet on every regret.

Even your ghost stopped talking to me,

even the shadows got bored of my silence.

But somewhere inside all that emptiness,

I found a spark I didn’t recognise:

a little loud, a little reckless,

like the beat of a song I used to love

but forgot how to sing.

I followed it, step by shaky step,

not knowing if it would save me

or burn me down.

Turns out… it did both.

Colours flooding in—

blue for the nights I survived,

red for the anger that pushed me forward,

gold for the tiny hopes I tried to kill,

green for the peace I never thought I’d earn.

They’re all mixing, spinning,

washing the ghosts from my skin.

Maybe I’m not whole yet,

but I’m not broken the same way anymore.

I’m falling back into colour,

letting the city paint me new.

I’m breathing louder than thunder,

finding the strength I swore I’d lost with you.

And it don’t ache like before—

this glow is mine, and it’s blooming.

I’m falling back into colour,

finally choosing to keep moving.

Maybe this is what healing feels like—

not perfect, not clean,

just colours returning,

slow but certain,

like sunrise through a cracked window,

like hope you didn’t invite

but let in anyway.