When voices come in colors
A cafe in open air, an exceptionally hot Cairo summer night, the rejuvenating feeling of being around friends, and -surprisingly- strangers.
I stared into the void while my friends indulged in a girly conversation, I drifted for a moment, not thinking of anything, not focusing on conversations that wind throw my way.
I think clarity has less to do with focus than what we usually think. When you’re focused on something you leave your mark on it, you perceive it in a mixture of what it is and what you want it to be. Only by being a perfect bystander could unbiased clarity come.
Voices mingled, and in that very moment that voices became unintelligible, they brought a new kind of perception. Voices cease to have linguistic significance, but they do carry the mood, the feeling, the aura. It’s almost as if the air around the speaker resonates with meaning that I cannot perceive by hearing.
Voices had colors, and in that moment everything felt so perfect. Everything, everyone, every shade of abstract had a meaning and a purpose. Voices had all kinds of colors, but they all belonged to the same rainbow, so did I.
Black is still my favorite color, but I can’t help wondering.. If I could ever distance myself from myself, and listen to the void, would my voice come in the color black?
