the city

Colors

Brown is such a pretty color, isn't it?
That were the color of your eyes, staring into me that day.
That were the color of your hair, dusted with snow that time we went on an adventure.
That was the color of your sweater, the day we painted music.
The color of your favorite drink, your little pencils you wrote poems with, the hot leather car seats on the bus during the summer.

Dark colors are such pretty colors, aren't they?
That's all you ever wore, blacks and greys, sometimes navy.
That's only ever what you painted with, never lilac skies or reddish sunsets.
Your leather notebook, your backpack, your bedroom walls, your sheets, your bookshelf, your record player, your camera, goddamn it, everything about you was a smudge of dark colors.

Colors blend beautifully, don't they?
Purples work with orange and red and a hint of blue to create the most amazing portraits,
and the sky turns a complex mixture of pink and lavender during dusk,
those sorts of colors worked together.
You and I never did.
You were dark, I was dark,
we formed one sad painting after another.
We'd never get the colors right,
using all the wrong greens and yellows too light,
and it never worked the way we wanted it to.
Ink splotches and torn paper,
we were a mess.

I loved someone who had the most beautiful brown eyes once,
they were all dark colors against tanned skin.
They were black skinny jeans against black boots and a paint stained sweater,
they were foggy night skies where nothing ever seemed clear,
they were 7am trips to the library and hushed conversation between the shelves,
or plane rides in the early hours of the morning, both sleepy and wonder-filled.
I loved someone once.

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A/N: Notice how I used they/them pronouns