Black may not be a color, but when I look into myself, when I see my dark room, I feel happy because the feeling of solitude is what basically I feel more then anything in my life alone is all I’ve been. When I see black things, it makes me feel happy because I depend on my dark room and black clothing to make my day better if its been a shitty day or if I take a lot of bull from people I see in life or to just remind me of why I like and keep wearing the color. Black was never my favorite, but as the years went by of being in solitude, confinement, pain, suffering and emotionless I’ve known that the color is who am it is my life in one simple color and that is black. All the feeling ive felt and grown tired of I depend on black things to keep my own self reminded that of what I am and what I live for which isn’t much of a life. Black is who I am; I don’t care about certain things, people, events I don’t socialize with anyone or caring whether or not to show feelings towards someone or something I don’t want to. Black is my emotionless, careless and painfulest color that I know will and remind me I have no soul. Always represent me whether I change or not it will always be my choice of color to wear, to represent my feelings or what I feel about someone which is rare, but black will and always will continue to be my one and only reason to live. I’ve always felt and heard the negative feedback of wearing the color black but people only judge at the person and the way it looks but never the deep meaning to why someone wears the color they wear when people ask me why I wear black I don’t give them the truth I give them the answer which is “because I like it” knowing that would never understand my reason for the color black which is always bee good to me in the good times and bad times since I’ve worn and loved it.
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