Gold was the color of his hair
when we met.
It danced so effortlessly,
a laugh,
a song,
a ribbon of glorious wind.

Purple was the ink
he used on the note,
in which he professed his fondness of me.
It said; “Do you like me?
Because I like you.
Check yes or no.”

I laughed; he was so childish.
Although now I realize
that his note
could not have been
more
perfect.
My answer was
yes.

Blue was his eyes,
a reflection of the ocean;
A rolling storm.
But I was not afraid.
I was never afraid.

Crimson was the color of our cheeks
when we kissed.
Our mouths aligned so perfectly
that I wondered:
why hasn’t it always been him?

Pink was the night
of our
very first date.
Biking aimlessly through the state.
It was filled with
kisses
and laughter
and life.

Grey was the night I got the news.
There had been
a car
accident.
My screams went on through the night,
splattering against my
bedroom ceiling
like iron blood.
My screams left ugly stains
that would never
go away.

Black was the casket in which
he stayed.
He looked cold,
with dark lips
and pale skin.
So cold.

Clear were the tears that ran,
a waterfall,
down my cheeks.
They branded my lips,
burning them with
patterns I did not want to see.

White was the moon
that hung like a single lantern above our heads.
I lay above him
with
my dirt stained lips
pressed hard against the ground.
I wondered if he could feel me
the way I felt him.

Nothing is me now.