Plumes of smoke fill the air, staining the port’s once blue skyline. All color is absent, and even the water churns with muck and ice. I lean against the tarnished rails and fill my lungs with air that reeks of the city. As I take in the gray, bustling streets, reality sinks in. I never thought I’d say it, but I want to stay on this miserable boat.

Despite the crowds during the day, the roads are now silent. The blackness of midnight is lessened by only a handful of dim street lights speckled down the way. My eyes search for the familiar sliver of moon, but the sky is clouded by pollution and snow. At first, the frozen droplets were a kind of wonder to me. But the snow is unpleasant and cold, just like every other aspect of the city. It is simply another layer of gray bent on destroying any trace of color. I wrap myself in the thin scrap of fabric I was provided and close my eyes, picturing the clear, star filled sky back home.

The train is too loud for sleep. The clicking of the wheels fades into the background, but the routine blaring of the horn jolts me awake every time I begin to doze off. My knees bob anxiously, and I find that the hard heel of my shoe makes a pleasing clack when I tap it against the hard metal flooring. I don’t know why everything in this world is made of it; the boats, the buildings, the trains, all built of the same lifeless, colorless steel. I miss the flowering acres that filled Sicily, the smell of salt off the coast, and the warm sun on my skin. Clack, clack, clack.

I arrive at the flat around five. It is small, dark, and of course, gray. I toss my bag into the prepared bedroom and kick off the uncomfortable shoes, longing for home. If any person willingly chose this bland city over miles of green grass and blue ocean, I would question their sanity. It is still snowing outside, and a puddle begins forming where my icy shoes have landed. I guiltily pick them up just before my aunt walks into the room. Her warm embrace thaws me from the inside out, and as she leads me to the kitchen, I can’t help but grin at the smell of home coming from the silver pot on the stove.

The cookie cutter neighborhood, though plain, is surprisingly peaceful. I like taking strolls through it, walking a route that passes each identical home. My eye is caught, however, by a particular house. Somehow, in this colorless world, I see a young lady watering a vibrant window box full of bright fuschia tulips. The flowers remind me of home, and her blossoms become the highlight of my days. I wave to her every now and then, and she blushes as pink as the tulips when I do. Though I routinely pass her home, I only now notice the bright yellow hat she always wears; I see the green returning to the grass as spring arrives, and the signs of life and color coming from the array of blooming flower buds. I pass her house, and on impulse, I ask her to join me for a walk. To my surprise, she accepts, and introduces herself as Rosaría Accardi. The next day she stands waiting for me, yellow hat and all. There is something very special about this girl, this Rosaría.

My breath catches. I thought the day would never come, but I am overjoyed that I was wrong. There at the end of the aisle is my Rosaría. In her hands she carries a bouquet of her window box tulips, tied with a sunshine yellow ribbon. The lacy white dress makes the color of her rouged lips stand out, and for once, I don’t mind its simple color. It no longer reminds me of what I lost, but what this new life has given me. As Mr. Accardi brings her towards me, my eyes well up. Somewhere between the sunlight shining in through the church windows and the droplets of water rimming my sight, this gray world becomes a kaleidoscope of colors I didn’t even know existed. Her soft smile from under the veil is a promise of a future with more love and life than the fields back in Sicily. I must have been colorblind before, because the world is more beautiful than ever before as she takes the spot beside me. “Do you, Rosaría Accardi, take…” I do not wish to go home anymore. I will always miss Sicily, but Rosaría is my home now. She is the force holding me to earth, to wherever she is. The room silences, and something tells me they are waiting on me. I take her hands gently and look into her eyes. “I do.” The preacher’s final words are a blur, but when she lifts her veil, the world shifts into shocking clarity. In it, I see a future far better than I could have dreamed as I lean forward and finally kiss my wife.

I get out of the silver car with my Rosaría at my side. I unload our few bags, and together we take in the scene. The house is small, with dirt stained siding and a path leading to the simple front door. The windows are lined with old shutters and a small metal window box. She glances at me knowingly, and I smile at the notion of her vibrant tulips. The inside is mostly empty, but the seemingly blank front wall is marked with an assortment of pegs. Suddenly, she starts digging through her bag, and hangs something on one of the studs. When she steps back, I see her bright yellow hat, ready for our new adventure. I kiss the beautiful woman who brought color back into my life, and I am ready to begin a future full of it.