Everything looked like a ridiculously adorable dream in the past, back before they opened their eyes.

In that dream-like world, nothing truly existed as itself. But it was simple to ignore the truth if one tries hard enough to forget reality or pretend everything was as desired. 

So, hiding behind a translucent rouge veil, Ami truly believed the world was pink.

The world was different back then: nothing but coral shades of blush and soft, dreamy whispers. They’d wipe the shiny, dream-colored tint of peach lip gloss spilling down their chin with a lacy orchid-pink handkerchief; then they’d brush subtly strawberry-colored blush over their cheeks with a smile brighter than half-translucent pink diamonds. 

Then they’d stare at those diamonds, thankful that the soft color and refined shape warped their reflection.

After all, the cutest color was always pink. It tasted like spun sugar and a smile following a happy dream. It hid in the undertones of life, lingering beautifully beneath deceptively hopeless surfaces. There, it’d grow and consume all the blue in the world until everything became just as elusive as its soft hue.

Back then, they could smile without restraint. They could fall easily into the embrace of a world that had accepted them and their “weird” identity.

Back then, they could stare at their reflection, half-feeling like it could replicate all their thoughts.

But, of course, none of it was real.