My vision was once clear to the point of clairvoyance. I could read the signature line on a check. I know it exists but have struggled to see the fine line where white bleeds into black, the area of ‘maybe’. It is a distortion of thought as natural as the brown on my skin, one I recognize but am unable to change. I know the gray is necessary. But black and white haunt me in their definitive existence. That something could be both and at once neither troubles me. Yet black and white thoughts leave me weary. Gray seduces me but its spectrum confounds. However, as my vision has changed, I must learn to accept all that cannot easily be seen.