Before I was born, everything was shades of blue, and after I die everything will be shades of white, but right now it's all the colors. I wish I were a seahorse so I could see the colors between the colors. We can only see millions but they see millions of millions. I want to know what they look like, the colors I can't see. I don't even see the spaces where the millions of unseen colors live. How can more be squeezed in?
I know! If we name the edges of the ones everyone knows, then maybe we'll catch glimpses of the ones only seahorses can see.
The velvet black of where you go in your deepest sleep.
Teasingly tiny intermittent explosions of silver reflected off scales.
Mocha caramel cream swirl bliss that fills you when you finally let go.
The new grass green of uninhibited wonder.
A new crimson hope for winter tomatoes.
White hot tips of indigo flames, hungry for as much as they can get.
The not quite seen ghostly gray of polka dots' after-image.
Searingly bright minty greens and flamingo shrimpy pinks that make us think of Florida.
The almost audible melody of colors cast on ochre walls by a slowly spinning prism.
See anything yet?
I almost do.
