Prior disclaimer: this is incredibly cheesy, and I have to credit the idea, anonymously, to a very close confidant of mine. You’ll know who you are once you read this.

A phenomenon I’ve been describing for years is the concept that emotions affect visual perception. We’ve all had physical effects of emotions, mental effects (well, duh), but this is the first I’ve really dove into the idea of the visual effects of emotions. Emotions, truly, are a scary and needlessly powerful thing — we are at the mercy of our brains regardless of if we’re comfortable with that fact — and they have such a reach beyond our mental capacity. Empaths with a truly gifted power can feel emotions vicariously, therapists have the master key to all the brains in the world, and, as I mentioned, emotions can mess with our biological processes in the form of visual, auditory and physical cues.

One of the more glaring examples I found was, on my walks home from school, the trees always seemed brighter when I was happy. Reds became dominant, yellows suggestive of a happy ending to the day, or greens and blues in the spring becoming calmer and less grim. It was always very strange to me — how is it that one minor change in my attitude can affect so much?

Now, this was the case in a perfectly normal set of days. The power that this phenomenon had on me when I was in love was something to be heralded by the nation.

You see, if you haven’t caught my concept of love yet (I’m shocked!) you need to know some very important things about how I perceive love. I see love as a patchwork quilt; our relationships are not defined by one experience, but rather defined and outlined by many experiences, feelings and thoughts that may either go said or unsaid. Our relationships are a scale, and we contribute to both sides. We also define our love and relationships via the small little quirks that make it unique. One of these, funny enough, is colors and other nuances.

When you’re in love, you get the once-in-a-blue-moon chance to perceive your love in the best way possible: visually. Of course, this includes seeing your partner smiling, your hands clasped in each others’, but it also includes these unique perceptions that no one else can access. For me, the vividity of colors is very indicative of my current perceptions of my relationship.

The most recent of my relationships began during the summer months, so not much is to be said about the awesome red and yellow colors of the autumn months. However, even in summer, there are little tidbits you can pick up on. The sky always looked extra blue to me, and the clouds looked fluffy, like I could pick them from the sky and just hug them like I could my partner. The front lawns of countless houses demonstrated a powerful green that seemed to stare right into my soul; appreciating what it saw, it gave off a very welcoming allure. Hell, I’ve rolled in one too many patches of grass, that’s how strong the allure is.

The real heart-grasper, however, came in the form of the connections between colors and person. I still hold this to be true for anyone; if you can discern colors, and you can connect with those you love in a deep bond, you will inevitably make connections that seem to probe your subconscious.

You may see green and think of that one outfit that made your jaw drop, or blue and think of your partner’s eyes sparkling in the sun. You can see the reds of lipsticks and Louboutin heels, or the purples of a glittery earring set that made your heart glow a little warmer.

Deeper so, we get down to the emotional component of that other person. You may see yellow as the color of her laugh, hesitant to start but longing to keep going. You may see orange as the sunset reflecting off of her pondering face that seems to be so captivated by a natural phenomenon. Colors are a powerful means for communication, which is why color theory is one of my specialties in the show production industry.

You see, when I ask an actor “what color do you see in yourself?”, I ask that as a common courtesy. They can spitball some answer, because I put them on the spot, but the way they stand under the light, adjust their hair, smile in nervous response to my pressing question, it always provides enough information for me to make informed judgement. Before they know it, as they answer, I have a light palette developed and tailored specifically for them.

I can see their longing, their desires, or their pain. I can see the reds of a romance left unfulfilled, the yellows of a newly acquired happiness or the baby blues of the eyes that captivate them so. I can see the greens of a nature walk with their closest companion, or I can see the purples of a deep sky at night, under which they lie in each others’ arms and forget about the world.

Colors play an integral part in my life, as you probably imagined. Name anyone I’ve ever had a romantic relationship with, and I’ll draft you a color palette with backstory that will knock your socks off. All of my design choices carry weight, a weight that I have been burdened with since the day I met them. I can name you shades of colors that pertain to the very day I met them; I can name the reds that filled their cheeks as they were hesitant to interact with anybody in the room, or the greys of the comfy outfit they chose as to not stand out. I can pick the yellows of their initial interaction with me, or of the first night that we really became close. I can pick the oranges of belting out songs at the top of our lungs, or the indigos of a deep conversation that really sealed our fate as companions. Finally, I can name the pinks, soft whites and eggshells that make up the feeling I felt holding them in my arms, as they slowly drift to sleep, the rest of the world fading into obscurity.

I can tell you about the exact moment our palette went monochrome.

You can’t expect me to not cover both sides of this theory. We can all relish in the delight, the cuteness and the carefree nature of the love we all once felt, but we can also acknowledge the time when everything went wrong.

I see the darker greys of a day spent without conversation. I see the browns and forest greens of latent emotion and jealousy. Worst of all, I see the lighter reds of a lust for another. As an empath in my own nature, I can see these colors leading to stories left untold, and it is by far one of the worst emotions I’ve ever had to feel.

The truth is, your first day outside without love feels utterly terrible. The colors go dull, you lose your senses and you become numb to everything around you. You gain the monochromacy of loneliness, the empty palette of numb emotion, and everything terrible in between.

You linger and roam around your own proverbial fields of Asphodel, taking every step with ginger remorse. I found, personally, that cardboard brown is the color of a sudden loss. Everything has that awful light brown undertone; even worse, asphalt gray is also a prominent color. You seem to be on an endless emotional Route 66, with no rest stop in sight.

This is the duality of a human’s colors; like a storybook, they have the same rising and falling action that captivates the masses. We can’t expect to live in vividity all the time, for fear of becoming aloof and insensitive to the world, but we also can’t expect to live in monochromacy all the time, for fear of losing our soul to emptiness. We accept this fate from day one, knowing the risks and limitations that our body, mind, heart and soul can all collectively provide. It’s a sad reality, but love does fizzle out.

I’ve always had that one day, however, where I go outside and see those vivid colors once more.