It became frustrating to tackle the garden of floral. My hand cramped with anxiety and throbbed with sobs. The paint only lasted for so long, nothing was permanent. I barely felt permanent myself, the racks of saddened songs increasing in size as the hours passed.
She had walked by one afternoon, witnessing my state of despair.
"Maye," she extended a hand, smiling down at me. Bemused, I placed my hand in hers, startled when she took the paintbrush and began working on the hydrangeas with me. She hummed while she worked, pushing her long, brown hair out of her face.
"You can see it?" I asked, barely a whisper.
Maye turned to me. "No."
We worked into the late night, slowly progressing. She returned each day after that, attitude in hand. I will never understand what drove her to me at this time, considerably so since she couldn't see the discoloration I had been witnessing. She simply returned, one after another.
That was when the hydrangeas changed from purple to pink.
Several years later, Maye and I had been sitting on a lone bench, staring at the ocean in front of us.
"What made you stop that day?" I handed her a glass of iced tea, taking an extended sip.
She pondered for a moment before answering. "For the same reasons you chose him."
My eyes widened as she gave a slight giggle before standing up. "I'll show you."
She took me back to when you and I first met.
YOU ARE READING
Colors Behind the Glass ✓
Poetry[COMPLETED] Lonnie has been through several life-changing events. The most impactful is the death of their abuelita and the loss of someone close to them as they came out as non-binary. They have struggled with coming to terms with these two facts...
