My skin is a volatile complexion; burnt sienna after a July bathed in the sun, pasty and pale as September robs me of the last traces of summer. Perhaps even rosy after an afternoon of lacrosse, or perennially blushing after a trip to Sephora.
The voices around me, an array of colors; some effervescent, others too bland to discern from the steady hum of the radiator. The tenor beside me in choir belts a grandiose cerulean; the beatboxer spits a rainbow so bright, everyone wants in on the jam sesh. The corporate lawyer, her pantsuit matching her pinstripe monotone. A teacher, his mahogany mutter ignored by the girls painting their nails in the back. #2, a braid in her hair and a Harrow shaft in her hands, calling plays, crimson resolve hugging her words. Act 2, Scene 2, of Romeo and Juliet: recited into virescent life by the one kid whose favorite month of school is spent in the Shakespeare unit.
A rainbow in the life.
Allison Chou. This is pure beauty.
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