The Fading Colors

At 38, I’ve come to realize the extent of my transformation since my teenage years — the hard lessons of change. The struggle to articulate my discontent has intensified with age. Growing older, I often seek justification, convincing myself that no issue is too great for me to be unhappy about— work, relationships, or even health, but despite injecting as much positivity into every situation, believing that no challenge is too hard, there’s an ever-lingering sensation within me, a fading presence, frustrated yet lacking the strength to confront it.


The sky, once vibrant, now appears dull. There’s a lack of appreciation for the surroundings and the warmth that certain colors once appear in front of me. The air I breathe feels less like a refreshing breeze and more like the mere sustenance of life.