The lonely being pulsed with a deep, resonant crimson, the color of a dying star’s last breath. It was not a color of anger, but of a profound, ancient sorrow, a memory of an existence lived in utter solitude.
In response, the lens did not try to negate the sorrow. It did not offer a bright, cheerful yellow of false hope. Instead, it shimmered with a soft, gentle lavender, the color of twilight, a color that said, ’I am here with you in the darkness.’
And in that shared twilight, the crimson began to soften, not disappearing, but finding a harmony with the lavender, a testament to the simple, profound power of a shared silence.