Colors are truly a blindingly wondrous and mystical thing.  Just by opening my eyes, I view a beautiful spectrum filled to the brim with a fantastical amount of options.  The reddest of roses, colored the same as the thick nectar that lives inside us.  The hue of a grasshopper resembles the shade of a refreshing lime on a hot summer day.  It’s all truly fascinating- how there are so many different options, yet two things that do not seem to have any similarity can share the one description that people give first to any object or being.  

I hold a tiny bag of stones.  The bag is a dusty beige, the piece of string tying it an ashy white.  Opening it carefully, I pour out its contents onto my compact and congenial mahogany desk.  Tons of glorious colors flood onto my desk, blurring my vision and spilling onto the floor.  

As they fall rhythmically, one grabs my attention in specific; the misty pearl that is covered with grim.  No longer is it a shiny white, but after age, it seems more like a rugged brown color.  It is not attention-attracting in the slightest— it is a gem, not a stone, technically.  Why is it here?  It does not match the colors of the others, it is plain, boring. It should not be here.  

I stand up to attempt to put it back in the bag and return it to the owner of the shop where I had bought the stones, but find that the bag is gone.  Where is it, where is the bag?  

This is some joke, some trick.  Even beyond the grave, he torments me with his foolish little pranks.  I see behind his little practical jokes, I know that pearls are not gemstones, I know that it should not be here.  It is not nearly as beautiful as these other stones, it does not match their radiance.  It doesn’t belong, he continues to laugh at me, ridicule me!  

I begin to feel my throat swelling as my hands shake.  I finally bought something for myself, something I enjoy and look forward to, only for it to be ruined by him, his memory again.  Always destroying my peace.  It has been years, he should just learn to let go.  Why has he not let go yet?  Let me live in peace, let me finally feel joy! The last time I even felt joy was-

I stop myself from completing that thought.  I know the answer to that. We both know the answer to that question, don’t we?  

As my eyes begin to feel moist and my nose sniffles, I stare at the disgusting pearl.  It reminds me of something—or someone— from a dream, or a past life.  Oh, his eyes always seemed to be filled with such joy and glee, they held such curiosity and beauty, they- 

No.  Don’t think about it.  Do not let him flood your thoughts, you must move on.  Leave him.  Leave us.  You left us, you left me.  You deserve nothing, you did this to me.  You destroyed me.  Why do you linger in the feeling of my tears running down my face, why does my morning coffee remind me of your drowsy mustache that always seemed like it gained volume after you were energized?  Why do I see you in every color around me, every object I see— why do I feel your eyes watching me through this pearl?

Leave, oh gruesome and cruel spirit.  Now is not my time yet, but the more I look into this pearl, the more I wish for the time to come faster.

I stare at it, rolling it between my wrinkled fingers.  I do not want a rusty, old, aged pearl to hold as of now.  I want something living, youthful, full of life and laughter.  I want a beautiful pearl to hold me as we put our grandchildren to bed and sing drunken ’70s music while hiding our alcohol from the landlord.  I want the pearl that always knows when I’m sad and has a tiny scar under his nose that only seems to lighten his beautiful face even more.  I want the pearl that holds me whilst I cry.  

I want the pearl that makes me feel joy again.  

I stare at the pearl quietly before getting up and putting it in my desk drawer, filled with hundreds of other stones that are colored the same shade.

It is truly fascinating how different gemstones can all eventually seem like they are the same shade over time.