Mood Rock
Wanted Pirate
The 21st of May is like any other day for most people. However, a number of people may take this day as something special. For some, it is the time around finals. For others, it is a day closer to vacation. There are those who see this date as their birthday, and people may be enjoying this day as their wedding anniversary. I, however, acknowledge yesteryear as the date of my death; my death, that occurred on the 21st of May, 2017.
Death is much more than the literal act of passing away. It can be understood, instead, as the end of something. Death can be the end of life, but it can also signify the end of liveliness. I am as alive as a sentient, albeit inanimate, object can be, but today still marks the one-year anniversary of my death. It has been exactly one year since I have lost all the color in my life. This color that I used to possess gave me a feeling of joviality and hope that I never experienced before. I was not the only one to experience this sensation. Many fellow rocks such as myself were able to enjoy the colors of life which have now since been taken away from us. This departing of our colors took away the physical aspect of being colorful, but it psychologically took away something much more meaningful. The end of our colors also brought about the end of our vitality. We no longer have joie de vivre, nor piquancy, nor a clear incentive to exist. The feeling of being alive was eradicated from us, and this sentiment of emptiness, of meaningless, makes me and my kind seeing the literal side of death as a better alternative, with only a morsel of hope restraining us from being casting ourselves into the waters of the Caribbean Sea. A scrap of hope that has persisted since the 21st of May, 2017.
The sensation of life is something that my brethren and I yearn for dearly, but we still, without our colors, can still undergo the feelings of at least one lively characteristic: pain. This pain is not physical, but it is the pain of grief. It is a pain that burns through all our figurative hearts without setting ablaze the array of emotions which we were once able to exhibit. Rather, this pain is one that can only go so far. It allows us to be hurt, but there is no color to bring back our joy. We are stuck in this cycle of grief, a cycle that only hope can alleviate somewhat. Even with hope–a diminishing source that cannot be replenished without color–the struggle is hard to bear. Speaking about this daunting fact distresses me even now, and as I type this sentence, I can feel an expression of sorrow making its way down my stony cheek. This saddening fact has been relevant since the 21st of May, 2017.
Where my vivacity used to be, there is now a hole that has been inadequately replenished with the color of gray. I have been gray in the original game, but it was this remake that has shown me a better world. It was this remake that showed me that I can be more than just a few lines of code. I was a mistake, sure enough, but this accident was a blessing. It was not even a blessing in disguise; my colors were an unanticipated present for all, with no downsides. The array of colors which I have been gifted with showed me the way to humanity. To a better existence instead of focusing solely on my otherwise derisory time observing the new players go about their ways. To a chance to experience life and compassion. I did not know what would have been worse until recently: taking away my colors or not giving them to me at all. I have discovered the simple answer: it would have been better to not have given me my colors in the first place, for my life is darker now with the removal of the light than it would have been if it had never shone to begin with. I have had a taste of life, and it is a memory which I cannot part from. Now that I know what I have been missing, I find it tortuous to go about my days without experiencing the colors of life for myself to spread to all who wish for it. Ignorance is bliss, but I cannot become incognizant again. I have lost my ignorance since the 21st of May, 2017.
It was my colors that taught me to live and to love. It is not solely a self-love of my new life, but it is a love and appreciation for all objects. With color in my life, I learned to express this color to others. I learned to make people smile. I learned to make people happy. My colors created laughter amongst the masses. Now, my grayness only makes use of me a homely background image. I paid for this temporary time to be able to love with the feeling of grief with its deprivation afterwards. This was a bargain I had no say in, and it was something in which the negative aspects were not spoken of to me. I only knew that I was colorful, and it was abruptly revealed to me that this blessing was to be temporary on the 21st of May, 2017.
Normally, I would try to not think of the misery I experienced, but rather, I try to focus on what beauty remains. But I must ask: what remains of me that can be admired? I am now just another object to be passed by. However, the physical ability to change color is not what I pine for most. The ability to be seen as beautiful is not what I desire, but it is no longer retaining the ability to have feelings in my hypothetical heart that I grieve about. Knowing that I used to be able to love, and knowing that I have lost that capability, creates the only emotion that I have left: pain. Not being able to convey my mood makes me nothing more than a soulless entity that only once knew how to show meaning. It is like I had a lobotomy that took away my feelings, and now I am only left with the dismal memory of being able to have this precious attribute. A dismal memory of a time before the 21st of May, 2017.
I lost my colors, and I am unable to overcome the loss due to the painfully exultant memories. The colors will live on forever in my dreams, but they are nothing more than picturesque recollections of a departed age, and the emotions which they entailed have shifted from pleasurable to that of anguish. I have bid farewell to my colors on a physical level, but the emotional side of my colors refuses to leave. My memories exist not as a cheerful screenshot in time, but as a burning mark in my heart that reminds me of what has been. The good times of then are now the sad thoughts of the present. My heart refuses to let go, even though I try so hard. Some of you may assume that there is nothing wrong, and may be asking how can I be enduring so much pain when there is nothing to be hurt. I answer, there was a time when I could feel pain. In fact, I can still feel it, but I used to experience happiness, sadness, anger, fear, trust, love, surprise, envy, and many others. My colors taught me something I never knew I would learn beforehand: emotion. With my colors gone, I can only feel the pain of loss. There is nothing, and it is the fact that I have nothing that brings about an internal pain. A pain that I have been experiencing since the 21st of May, 2017.
I have nothing. I am nothing. There is nothing which I can do to alleviate my sufferings, for the glee of having life left with my colors. There is nothing physical to hold onto, and there is nothing memorable to be made in the future without my colors. All that I am left with are the memories of my colors, and they only serve as a reminder that I will never be colorful again. People get tired when one talks about past glory that has since faded into obscurity. My glory days are the times of yore, and therefore hold a lesser merit in the present. So far, I have nothing except my grayness with which to progress into the future. I predict my austere future of greyness as me looking back at what has happened, for there is nothing in the present for me to attach happy memories too, and there is nothing which I can do to give myself a chance to become full of life again in the future without the help of forces outside my control. I have been left as a beggar on the streets, pleading for scraps on the outskirts of a mansion where my original fortunes are currently locked up since the 21st of May, 2017.
The death of something usually entails the idea of not being able to get it back. With death comes a permanent loss in most circumstances; however, the average person will usually have others to mourn with. The average person still has the sentiment of joyfulness, which can be invigorated with those whom he or she cares about. I have nothing or no one. All my intimates have suffered the same fate as I, but we have nobody or nothing jubilant to cheer ourselves up. Our colors are gone, and with it, our mood. We are left as unprepossessing rocks, and cannot exist as we used to. We only know pain, and it is this sensation which we indulge ourselves in since it is the only feeling we have left. We cannot cure ourselves of this ailment, for there is only one cure: the return of our colors. We pray for this day to come. We still manage to cling onto a fragment of hope. Nevertheless, pain is consuming our hope, and soon pain will overcome it. This war for hope has officially been waged since the 21st of May, 2017.
Death is much more than the literal act of passing away. It can be understood, instead, as the end of something. Death can be the end of life, but it can also signify the end of liveliness. I am as alive as a sentient, albeit inanimate, object can be, but today still marks the one-year anniversary of my death. It has been exactly one year since I have lost all the color in my life. This color that I used to possess gave me a feeling of joviality and hope that I never experienced before. I was not the only one to experience this sensation. Many fellow rocks such as myself were able to enjoy the colors of life which have now since been taken away from us. This departing of our colors took away the physical aspect of being colorful, but it psychologically took away something much more meaningful. The end of our colors also brought about the end of our vitality. We no longer have joie de vivre, nor piquancy, nor a clear incentive to exist. The feeling of being alive was eradicated from us, and this sentiment of emptiness, of meaningless, makes me and my kind seeing the literal side of death as a better alternative, with only a morsel of hope restraining us from being casting ourselves into the waters of the Caribbean Sea. A scrap of hope that has persisted since the 21st of May, 2017.
The sensation of life is something that my brethren and I yearn for dearly, but we still, without our colors, can still undergo the feelings of at least one lively characteristic: pain. This pain is not physical, but it is the pain of grief. It is a pain that burns through all our figurative hearts without setting ablaze the array of emotions which we were once able to exhibit. Rather, this pain is one that can only go so far. It allows us to be hurt, but there is no color to bring back our joy. We are stuck in this cycle of grief, a cycle that only hope can alleviate somewhat. Even with hope–a diminishing source that cannot be replenished without color–the struggle is hard to bear. Speaking about this daunting fact distresses me even now, and as I type this sentence, I can feel an expression of sorrow making its way down my stony cheek. This saddening fact has been relevant since the 21st of May, 2017.
Where my vivacity used to be, there is now a hole that has been inadequately replenished with the color of gray. I have been gray in the original game, but it was this remake that has shown me a better world. It was this remake that showed me that I can be more than just a few lines of code. I was a mistake, sure enough, but this accident was a blessing. It was not even a blessing in disguise; my colors were an unanticipated present for all, with no downsides. The array of colors which I have been gifted with showed me the way to humanity. To a better existence instead of focusing solely on my otherwise derisory time observing the new players go about their ways. To a chance to experience life and compassion. I did not know what would have been worse until recently: taking away my colors or not giving them to me at all. I have discovered the simple answer: it would have been better to not have given me my colors in the first place, for my life is darker now with the removal of the light than it would have been if it had never shone to begin with. I have had a taste of life, and it is a memory which I cannot part from. Now that I know what I have been missing, I find it tortuous to go about my days without experiencing the colors of life for myself to spread to all who wish for it. Ignorance is bliss, but I cannot become incognizant again. I have lost my ignorance since the 21st of May, 2017.
It was my colors that taught me to live and to love. It is not solely a self-love of my new life, but it is a love and appreciation for all objects. With color in my life, I learned to express this color to others. I learned to make people smile. I learned to make people happy. My colors created laughter amongst the masses. Now, my grayness only makes use of me a homely background image. I paid for this temporary time to be able to love with the feeling of grief with its deprivation afterwards. This was a bargain I had no say in, and it was something in which the negative aspects were not spoken of to me. I only knew that I was colorful, and it was abruptly revealed to me that this blessing was to be temporary on the 21st of May, 2017.
Normally, I would try to not think of the misery I experienced, but rather, I try to focus on what beauty remains. But I must ask: what remains of me that can be admired? I am now just another object to be passed by. However, the physical ability to change color is not what I pine for most. The ability to be seen as beautiful is not what I desire, but it is no longer retaining the ability to have feelings in my hypothetical heart that I grieve about. Knowing that I used to be able to love, and knowing that I have lost that capability, creates the only emotion that I have left: pain. Not being able to convey my mood makes me nothing more than a soulless entity that only once knew how to show meaning. It is like I had a lobotomy that took away my feelings, and now I am only left with the dismal memory of being able to have this precious attribute. A dismal memory of a time before the 21st of May, 2017.
I lost my colors, and I am unable to overcome the loss due to the painfully exultant memories. The colors will live on forever in my dreams, but they are nothing more than picturesque recollections of a departed age, and the emotions which they entailed have shifted from pleasurable to that of anguish. I have bid farewell to my colors on a physical level, but the emotional side of my colors refuses to leave. My memories exist not as a cheerful screenshot in time, but as a burning mark in my heart that reminds me of what has been. The good times of then are now the sad thoughts of the present. My heart refuses to let go, even though I try so hard. Some of you may assume that there is nothing wrong, and may be asking how can I be enduring so much pain when there is nothing to be hurt. I answer, there was a time when I could feel pain. In fact, I can still feel it, but I used to experience happiness, sadness, anger, fear, trust, love, surprise, envy, and many others. My colors taught me something I never knew I would learn beforehand: emotion. With my colors gone, I can only feel the pain of loss. There is nothing, and it is the fact that I have nothing that brings about an internal pain. A pain that I have been experiencing since the 21st of May, 2017.
I have nothing. I am nothing. There is nothing which I can do to alleviate my sufferings, for the glee of having life left with my colors. There is nothing physical to hold onto, and there is nothing memorable to be made in the future without my colors. All that I am left with are the memories of my colors, and they only serve as a reminder that I will never be colorful again. People get tired when one talks about past glory that has since faded into obscurity. My glory days are the times of yore, and therefore hold a lesser merit in the present. So far, I have nothing except my grayness with which to progress into the future. I predict my austere future of greyness as me looking back at what has happened, for there is nothing in the present for me to attach happy memories too, and there is nothing which I can do to give myself a chance to become full of life again in the future without the help of forces outside my control. I have been left as a beggar on the streets, pleading for scraps on the outskirts of a mansion where my original fortunes are currently locked up since the 21st of May, 2017.
The death of something usually entails the idea of not being able to get it back. With death comes a permanent loss in most circumstances; however, the average person will usually have others to mourn with. The average person still has the sentiment of joyfulness, which can be invigorated with those whom he or she cares about. I have nothing or no one. All my intimates have suffered the same fate as I, but we have nobody or nothing jubilant to cheer ourselves up. Our colors are gone, and with it, our mood. We are left as unprepossessing rocks, and cannot exist as we used to. We only know pain, and it is this sensation which we indulge ourselves in since it is the only feeling we have left. We cannot cure ourselves of this ailment, for there is only one cure: the return of our colors. We pray for this day to come. We still manage to cling onto a fragment of hope. Nevertheless, pain is consuming our hope, and soon pain will overcome it. This war for hope has officially been waged since the 21st of May, 2017.
