Everyone is different. Everyone has their own lives and interests, and everyone's voice has a color.
Synesthesia is a condition where some of your five senses can merge together. For everyone that's affected by it, they overlap and combine in ways that are as unique as the person themself. For me, my auditory and visual senses overlap. Everyone’s voice has a color that I see when they speak. My father a deep red, the color of a brick home in the south. It’s very strong and sturdy, but harsh and stone cold all the same. My mothers has always been a vibrant mint shade. Very gentle, but it’s a color that seems to cut right through you.
Not all colors are pleasant though. There are people I can’t even hold a conversation with because the colors are just so… bad. People's voices tend to match that of their personalities so I tend to see their true colors much faster than others. A similar thing happens when too many people talk at the same time. It's the auditory equivalent of getting all the different crayons you can find, and mixing them all together. It’s uncomfortable to say the least.
No words can truly describe seeing the contrast of the colors shifting up when someone is happy. Or the soft, bubbly giggle of a newborn infant, which always is a striking shade of baby blue. No words can truly describe seeing the words get sharper and darker with each passing second of anger, the colors somehow looking as if they’re about to burst. Or watching words melt with sadness right as they fall from a good friends mouth.
Synesthesia can often get in the way of a lot of things, like when a bitter degrading green keeps looping in my head when I can't stop thinking about what people said to me. But it makes my world so much more colorful and unique. I wouldn't be a four time published poet or have my need to learn without it. I wouldn't trade anything for the vibrant world I live in.