We are all given an empty canvas when we are born. As we grow up, we add colors to it:
Yellow and orange for every moment of joy and happiness, for that race in high school that we won, for the nights we spent with incredible friends dancing or gossiping about nothing in particular;
Blue for the days when we were down and low, for all those Mondays we hated going to work;
Pink for the moments when our crush looked back at us, when our hearts skipped a beat, when we held a little baby in our arms for the first time;
Grey for the days when we were too bored to go out and face the world, when we sat in our pajamas watching reruns of our favorite series;
Green for those people who sometimes made us feel small and for those days when our future looked bleak as compared to others;
Red for all those incredible moments of passion or rage, when we fell in love, when it didn’t work out, when we wanted nothing but to win;
White for the peaceful days we spent at home, for the innocence we had in childhood; and black for the moments we spent in fear, anger or mourning.
We keep adding all these colors to our empty canvas, one over another, thinking that there is no meaning to it, that life is nothing but a blur, though in the end when we look back at it, the empty canvas turns into a beautiful painting, capturing the story of our life, giving meaning to every single moment that ever happened.