In my monochrome world, I’m still waiting for someone who can be my permanent colour. Even more, the most prismatic in it.

In my monochrome world, I drift, surrounded by shades of grey that blur together like fog on a forgotten morning. Each day is a quiet echo of the last, a subdued palette where even dreams lose their vibrancy, fading like old photographs left in the sun too long. There’s a longing here, a silent ache, for something—or someone—to break through the endless neutrality.

I am still waiting, holding my breath in this grayscale existence. Waiting for a spark, for a presence that could be more than a fleeting hue, more than just a splash of color that vanishes with the dawn. I seek permanence, someone who can be my “permanent colour,” not just a flicker in the night but a steady light, a radiance that settles into the depths of my soul and fills the cracks of my empty spaces.

Yet it’s not just color I desire; I crave a prism. I yearn for someone whose spirit holds a spectrum within, whose mere presence can scatter light in all directions, transforming the dull and the mundane into something alive and breathtaking. Not just any shade will do—no simple red or blue or green. I need them to be “the most prismatic in it,” a kaleidoscope of emotions, a rainbow that shatters the grey, that redefines what it means to feel, to see, to be.

In this monochrome realm, they would stand out like a sunrise over a barren landscape, flooding everything in a brilliance too bright to ignore. I imagine them painting my world in hues I’ve only dreamed of, each moment infused with their vibrant presence, each second a brushstroke in the masterpiece of life. With them, shadows would no longer be dark but rich, textured; even sorrow would hold beauty in its depths.

• So, here I wait, in this quiet, colorless world, with hope flickering like a candle on a windy night. I wait for that one soul who can change my world with just a look, with a laugh that shimmers, with hands that know how to hold both light and dark. Someone whose colors won’t fade but will stay, saturating the grey, painting my days in an endless, prismatic symphony.