Nothing in her world was ever simply black or purely white.
Truth, for her, was never born in contrast,
but in the soft, shifting spectrum between.

Her favorite color wasn’t a color at all, instead
it was a feeling,
a slow-burning knowing
that the world is mostly made of greys,
layered like sediment beneath the stories we tell.

But only the brave dare to dig
to press their fingers into the soil of things,
to unearth the tangled roots
where darkness meets light
and neither is fully wrong
nor entirely right.

In that in-between,
in that quiet courage to look deeper,
she saw it.

-one miraculous color