Yellow

Dear Yellow,

To this day, I’m still not completely sure if I was born with you. Or if you were born with me.

Could color become skin?

Could color shape the folds on a body,

Could color peel a pair of brown eyes open to the world,

Could color paint names on tongues?

I did not know.

I still do not.

Nevertheless, I became.

And you became with Me, dear Yellow.

That is what I know.

I also know that when we came into this world together,

You gripped my eyes shut

And held my tongue captive.

Until people could see nothing but you.

You are a jealous one, Yellow.

But you see, the one thing you forgot was to cover my ears.

And I wish you did, truly.

I could always hear the moment someone saw you first.

The moment my name was replaced by yours.

You are me, Yellow, but I wish I was not you.

That is what I know.

Nevertheless, we became.

What I do not know is when.

Sometimes, I wonder if my mother gave her final push

And out I came into the hands of a nurse

Who raised me up to let the world see me.

I wonder if all of the doctors and nurses in the room saw me

And thought to themselves, “What a beautiful Yellow.”

If all of the people in the world somehow knew

That I did not ask for you.

But did not care.

I wonder if my mother truly saw me.

If my friends knew my real name.

I wonder if I knew what I would become,

What would become Me on a day that I would die before ever remembering.

I wonder if you knew my name.

I wonder if you had a name other than the one I gave you;

If you lived in ancestors I knew and would never know in my lifetime,

a thousand differently-shaped bodies I would never have the chance to breathe in.

I still wonder if you have a soul.

Can you live forever?

Can you die?

But most importantly,

Will you die with Me?

This is what I know: I became and you, dear Yellow, became with Me.

I guess we are the same,

Isabelle.