A red and yellow basket...

Grey. It's the middle. The area where reason fades and lightens. Not quite clear, not quite defined. And what are we supposed to do there? A maybe is not definitive. It's a tease. It's not yes, but it's not a no. It's a silly, confusing thing. It's open-ended with no resolution in sight. There' s not a timeline attached to a maybe, a perhaps, or to the grey area that seems to expand everyday. There's hardly any black and white left in this world. Every yes has a but; every no has an exception. Everybody needs the grey area as a cushion. It's an excuse, a lie, a buffer, and a way to stall change. It's a road block, a pause button, a replay. It's a pencil, non-permanent, erasable. Grey.