As I look into the mirror and turn away from my ageing complexion, I wonder whether these stains are real or not. Standing here in my bedroom, the contrast between the feel of my matured toes and the ancient carpet isn’t very detectable. Through the looking glass, I see my youth and beauty replaced with old age and ugliness. Those big brown dough eyes that once drew men and all their companions to me have now evolved into portals to my barren soul. Staring at myself, I question who my compelling looks have abandoned me for; for my womb is a sterile as my soul, so no offspring could have inherited my beauty. I try to convince myself that the hair I own is decorated with the colour of wisdom and not old age with the map of my life carved into my skin from the creases of age.
The thing that distracts me from successfully convincing myself is the paint soiled dress hanging off my wardrobe door. The dress that is the real map of my life and not the wrinkles of knowledge I wish it to be. My wedding dress, stained with the actions of my past which hold a significant indication to the bereavement of my attraction; each colour symbolising an emotion of consequence, evidently leading to the thievery of my desirability, and into a state of silence and suppression.
White.
My wedding day, and the best day of my life. As we walk out of the crumbling church, the smell of white roses overpowers my senses as well as the sight of my husband of several minutes and I swoon. Filled with nothing but peace from the purity of my honour, I can only but smile. Smile a smile full of innocence, for the truthfulness of myself.
Green.
My husband starts his new job and I’m introduced to his sexy new temp. No good can come of this as I become engulfed with the feeling of jealousy. Jealousy so bitter I almost mistake it for envy.
Orange.
I demand his attention.
Blue.
As green predicted, my immaturity and jealousy proved to fail. As my husband leaves over the threshold he once carried me over, I feel my body collapse into despair and depression.
Purple.
My melancholy state is soon replaced with the materialistic feeling wealth offers as the inheritance of De Souza is given to me.
Red.
A certain special type of passion develops in my soul that I have never witnesses or experienced before. Desire evolves, lust takes over, and I meet a man…
Yellow.
As I am the one pushing my husband over the threshold this time, back into the world of gloom and optimism, I can’t help but feel darkness evade my soul to taint it with barrenness.
Black.
Sadness. Time. Silence. Suppression.
Grey.
Here I am alone, old and soiled. My dress leaks a rainbow around my feet. My feet being the foundation of stability in my paint soiled dress.
