I am Lonnie. I mentioned this, but my name is considerably confusing. A pair, both each other but neither. If I am the sunrise, how am I Lonnie all the same? I suppose I will indulge you to one lovely secret:
I am always both.
Both could be many things, but this both is heavy. The weight crashes against the waves I have set up against my rocky shores, dark reminders of pain. The beach is blank. Yes, color is perception, but how do you perceive so many at once? Our human eyes comprehend three color schemes, already so pressing and dominant in the valiance of armor. Imagine sixteen, or even five. The horror of such an overwhelming sense of freedom would terrify me, as it would inevitably terrify each individual. If picking the color meant freedom, would I pluck it from its roots? I like to tell myself I would, as I mule over the rose sitting at my kitchen table. It is red, as the timeline is. I am unsure as to whether this infuriates or comforts me.
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Colors Behind the Glass ✓
Poetry[COMPLETED] Lonnie has been through several life-changing events. The most impactful is the death of their abuelita and the loss of someone close to them as they came out as non-binary. They have struggled with coming to terms with these two facts...
