A pixelated vision is what we were often granted, the puzzle as a whole was a privilege we could never ask for.

A piece or two were always missing. 
Then I realised colours were also highly deceiving for they provided with a temporary tint that often tainted the surface with a false possibility of the truth changing a shade.

Occasionally, I transfused the hues, they often said that miracles happened in unaware instances and circumstances. 
But they only gave a traveller some refuge. 
And now I am in constant jitters that one day the kaleidoscope would shatter and the patterns that somehow had started to make sense will all just pour out, down this remorseless land. And I would be reduced to a monochromatic rant.