I was only there for you, as much as you let me be.

Feeling as nothing but a Polaroid on the wall,
though when flashing into your vision,
I transform and the old haze of the 600 fades
into a bright, crimson azure swirl.
No, I am not a gray canvas,
and neither is life.
A palette of colors, infinite with every blink of reality,
ever-changing, but also, ever-painting.
Colors fill perception before I say, “I”
Does not an artist begin their work before they know how?