Dependent on Black

I’ve known that I was dependent on black, but I never realized exactly how much until now, when I’m deprived of it. Dressing for dinner last night was impossible. I didn’t have any black–how was I to be cute? The same thing goes for church today. I feel like I’m just wearing normal clothes–a striped polo type shirt with a short khaki skirt and KEDS. When all the other girls look wonderful in their soft or bright colors, I merely look ordinary. Perhaps this is my idol–looking good. In that case, this summer is severely testing my devotion to God above my looks.

I look and feel the best when I’m in my swimsuit. After all, it’s black. After I get back from the beach my hair is full, my eyes are bright, and my facial features pop. Then it’s back into pastels and I’m bland again. I wash my hair and it lies flat again. My eyes and lips fade into the never-ending blahness of my dress.

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