black and blue

I used to paint the world in black and white
  the whites clean, pure, sometimes a little stale
  the blacks deep, rich, and often very meaningful

one day I woke up
  physically
  metaphorically
  maybe a bit of both
and realized I wanted a life more rich in color

so I poured a measure of blue ink into my bottle of white
  gradually
  carefully
  then all at once, with reckless abandon

the world was more beautiful, colorful, alive
  I could see things I'd never before seen
  imagined vistas I could never before consider
  and was less concerned that my black was a bleeding,
        permanent stain on my white-white palate

until today, when I woke up
  physically
  metaphorically
  maybe a bit of both
and looked at my blue ink
so deftly poured from the well
and wondered how I hadn't realized before:

blue is just another shade of white