Synesthesia's beauty

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

      What is color? Color is something tangible. Color is what the eye sees. What human brain divides into black and white, warm and cold, light and dark. But what does it taste like? What sounds does it make? Why can only the eye distinguish, for example, red from blue?       Colors are everywhere. They are hidden in the sounds that every person hears from day to day, in the words they say. Everything that surrounds us has its own color.       People are no exception.       Charles can define a person's identity only by what color he sees when looking at them. It's never been about appearance. For example, Anri, even in her classic black and white outfit, reminded him of something greyish blue. And Scarlett... her shade was like silver.       And he had never, never met a person who had one color predominant. Everyone he saw seemed to him like a palette that was completely smeared in a variety of colors. Someone was a mixture of brown and green, someone was blue and pink, and in someone almost all the colors were mixed, which together form only a dirty black shade. And the most striking example of such a thick mixture was Charles himself.       Sounds... He could hear sounds, too. Anri sounded like an out-of-tune violin, the strings of which are hopelessly deflated. Scarlett reminded him of the ticking of a clock. Clear and measured, but at the same time carrying boundless confidence and firmness, like a reminder that he is wasting time. And when he looked in the mirror, he heard the rustle of pages. Sometimes he even smelled something... Something like ink.       And when he was in some public place, this cacophony of sounds and colors immediately overshadowed his mind, preventing him from concentrating. There was too much chaos, too many dirty shades mixed with disgusting sounds.       Sometimes Charles saw patterns and ornaments around people. Smooth and wavy lines, zigzags, circles and other shapes that randomly and incoherently appeared and disappeared, replacing each other. And around his head he saw only a black, impenetrable haze, inside of which only occasionally blurred images, thoughts, words or numbers flashed, also painted in the appropriate color. Like static on a TV. Black – the color Charles saw inside himself – is a mixture of all existing colors, as if the very personification of disorder and sin. He was ready to do anything to make this hopeless, black shade at least a little lighter.       A person is a big lump of everything, in which there is color, sound, heat and pressure. This energy is even unpleasant to feel because of how chaotic and unstable it is.       And only one person felt not like a mixture of everything with everything, but like a crystal clear ball of light.       Vincent.       His color was... white. There were no impurities, nothing that would interfere with this magnificent, perfect purity, comparable to river water that silently flows through your fingers, so it seemed elusive. However, instead of the impermanence that is characteristic of water, there was only universal calm inside him. Eternal and indestructible, like a boundless cosmos.       Vincent was nice to feel, unlike everyone else. It didn't sound like Anri's out-of-tune violin or Scarlett's clock ticking. When Charles looked at him, he heard an unusual musical accompaniment, reminiscent of the sounds that arise in his head when watching the clouds. A kind of magical polyphony, like an angelic choir performing music from notes that don'teven exist. And all these notes were combined into chords that brought to a state of deep trance.       Vincent's smell was like the one after a thunderstorm. The smell of freshness. A reminder that all the bad things are over. It almost seems to be saying that everything will only get better from now on.       There was no pattern or ornament around Vincent. There was no fog like what Charles saw around his own head. No. The only thing that Eyler noticed about his friend was a kind of halo. However, it was not golden, as it is usually depicted on icons. It seemed to Charles that gold was the color of greed, narcissism and pride. This color was not something sacred to him at all. Instead, the halo around Vincent's head was still the same snow-white.        It was the personification of purity. A combination of eternity and steadfastness, depth and wisdom, on which, as it seemed to Charles, the whole universe could hold. Other colors are born from white. Thousands of opportunities and ideas, creating new worlds from scratch.       White… Perfect color. The color of an unattainable ideal without flaws. The color of something truly divine.       Charles just wanted to revel in this color. It was remaining somewhere in his subcortex of the brain. This color caused him the same, seemingly unfamiliar feeling. A feeling of sincere admiration. Oh, yes, it attracts the eye and takes the soul into the abyss, forcing you to think about its boundaries and try to see what is hidden from the human eye.       If in any other situation Charles hated his sensitivity to everything around him, perceiving it rather as an eternal inability to concentrate, now this phenomenon was the only reason why he felt alive. One glance was enough to feel it. To catch that divine calmness. To find in someone your own ideal, which you can only strive for, which you can only dream about.       The beauty of synesthesia is that you don't just see a person. You hear them without even talking, you smell them, you feel their taste and their temperature without making any contact. You can just watch and enjoy what you see, hear or feel. It's a blessing and a curse in one. It's a drug that at first seems like something disgusting, and then, once you take it at the right moment, you can't stop. When you "see" with your whole body, noticing every fleeting sensation.       The beauty of synesthesia is that you can feel someone. Feel and revel in it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙