Grey doesn’t exist. I don’t exist.
I knew a man, once. He wore grey. Neither black nor white, but an actual grey.
I can’t find that grey. That color he wore. It existed. I wear grey. It isn’t real. I am not real. My grey isn’t real.
Grey is who I am. Grey is black and white. You combine them to make grey. You know that.
When I wear grey, I can’t find a real grey. I use neither black nor white nor any other color but grey. No one can see it. It isn’t real. A part of me isn’t real. An important part. If that part isn’t real, I am not real.
I am not real. I am grey. The made-up grey that only exists for me. I made it up. I made up the grey. How could I make it if I don’t exist? I can’t know this without knowing grey.
I will be better for it. The grey that is a part of me. The part that you see. The part that I wear on my surface is the part I want you to see.
Until that grey is real to you, you can’t see me. I don’t exist.
You wish I were black or white. I am not black. I am not white. I am neither white nor black.
I am grey. I want to be grey.
I want to fit in. Who can fit in? No one can fit in. You stand out. That is it. Fitting in is the same as being left out.
Grey is worse than that. I can’t deny it. I also can’t deny that I need to be grey. I need to wear grey. You need to see grey. You need to acknowledge grey. I need to be grey.
Everyone else who speaks is black. Everyone who listens is black.
Everyone who speaks is white. Everyone else who listens is white.
I am not those things. No one listens. No one speaks to me.
I am grey.