When I was seven, my eyes explored everything. The world was bursting with color and symbolized the beauty of being alive. One moment in particular embodied this sentiment. Picture a dusty day in a monotonous school in India. The sun scorching sullen students, lizards swimming in the murky water tank, and no hope of savior. To any other bratty child, this situation would be deemed broken. But to me, there was sparks of joy in every corner. The last water droplet that glazed my steel water bottle, the airy skirt that twirled for miles, and the thrill of blowing cool air onto my clammy palms. It could not possibly get any better. And, yet it did. A water droplet fluttered into my frizzy hair, cooling my entire body within seconds. Well, it had to have been the water tank leaking again. But then came another droplet. And another. Was this rain in the middle of the hottest May ever? It couldn’t be. But, it was. Sparkles of clear liquid danced in sunbeams, floating down on the arid ground. This day could not get any better. But, it did. In the midst of a rainy May appeared a miracle. The rainbow reflected off the light water, captivating the attention of the nation. It would never leave me.

Today, the world is black and white. There is nothing for me, and nothing for anyone. Thunderstorms scatter across the gloomy sky, casting spells of humidity for days. I am unable to see it any different. Over the years, I have been groomed into yet another problematic soul. I wish to see the world as I did when I was seven. I wish to make everything disappear. But, rainbows don’t appear all the time, and I can’t be the person I once was.

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