The Color of Courage

I am sitting at my desk when it hits me. My eyes well up with tears and I'm sure my voice would crack if I could bring myself to speak. My brain tells my heart to save it, at least until I'm behind the shield of my own walls; then I can mourn them.
The trivial nature of ALL my concerns strikes with the force of a Basij baton, but I lack the courage to withstand it. I try to let go - empty myself of the job, money, relationship worries that cloud true freedom - I try to become clear enough to reflect the colors of those I am struggling to emulate.
Their colors are more than that of a candidate - they are those of a movement. It is a statement of purpose, and a refusal to waste the lives that have already been spent in these streets. They are the "voice", the face that refuses to shy away, turned into the glaring light with courage and truth. People I've never known, who are standing and fighting and dying in a place I have no connection to; I will mourn them. But I will not wear black to show my respect and reverence - I will wear the color of courage, everyday, until it ends.