If my memory is not wrong yet.
Around the time I turned 21, my eyes could no longer distinguish any colors.
As a painter, this is undoubtedly fatal.
However, there is nothing we can do about it.
I walked into a nearby art museum on a whim.
For me at that time, it was a boring and meaningless pastime.
Walked out slightly disappointed but the next moment.
A girl about my age fell off.
There is a rare chance that you will hear the sound of bones cracking.
Red paint spreads on the road.
The warm touch lingers on the face.
The long black hair reflected in the red paint gave it a contradictory sense of beauty.
How did you feel at that time? I remember it very clearly.
Is it sadness? Is it fear? Is it disgusting?
It's joy.
That red was my only impulse after I lost [color].
Even I don't know.
I, who was already weird, must have become even weirder.
/Color peeling
Intention: Accept the correct self.