If I were to tell about rainbows, our story would be a better topic than any other children's stories. Funny how these mere colors affect me with the rain's every finish, seeing myself searching for its presence as I close my umbrella, lift my chin up and play it all in my head again. The way you loved every color it had, and the amount of your affection for its rarity. Never thought such gay colors would bring memories as the sky gets clear, and everything turned gritty.
Red. Red is the color of roses you gave me. I remember how passionate, sweet and warm you were. Your love was not something hidden nor written; it was something felt, felt within every pixel of the thousands of photos of us. Evident were your eyes that would light up but it burned my skin like a matchstick, while I’m hoping that you’ll stay forever. I felt it within every sweet letter, filled with promises of 'see you later'. Felt with your sweet melting glance. Along with every bundle of nerves during our first dance. Felt with every lasting memory of our written story.
Not until the last red roses were delivered and your love began to wither. Our photos turned to you and her. Then written on your sweet letter said, “You can find someone better.” And your glance that became the last, witnessed me asking for another chance.
Instead of fresh rose petals, you brought a basket of oranges when you visited me in the hospital. I was sick as a kid but I miss you that I wanted to plead. I wanted to tell you how my heart bleeds and you're the medicine it needs.
But what can I do as she wrapped her hand around yours? What can I do seeing her finger perfectly mold for a diamond ring? Knowing that she's not just a fling. Both of you even greeted me with a smile. I was left all alone with my sighs. I kept the pain inside, even if it means I lied because I want to be your bride. How could I make you stay and that someday you'll realize it's me you want to embrace? But reality knocks me down. I'll have to wear a gown. Drink a glass of wine on your wedding day. Pretend that after a year or two, I am now okay.
All I know, the sun's yellow rays are festive and shout joy. They hit my bare skin through the curtains as I wake up. I greeted myself with "I only had my pillows beside me" instead of a 'Good morning' that you conventionally whisper to my ears, making my heart hop. I was too convinced you left early for an urgent call, but the yellow note says otherwise. Sticked to my bedroom door, it said "Meet me at 11 am on a cafe", and again, I read it thrice. Instead of notes, you leave me hugs which are nice but that was way before my heavy cries.
With mixed feelings, I opened my closet. I curtly picked my favorite dress, a green one. It is my favorite color. Emerald green to be specific, and tied my hair to a bun. I want to surprise you with a plain girl all gone - had a prep for my only one. That as I enter the cafe, everything will be invisible to your perspective and focus to your only one.
I added lipstick and a pink blush for me again to stand out. I had to erase all my doubts and be the girl you wanted all throughout.
And at ten-thirty, I rode the bus. The skies were blue but they're in brights. People were busy crossing with their heavy suitcases and all might. I remembered you again, and how I gifted you every suitcase that fed your sight.
Uncertain of all the possibilities today, I plastered my face with delight. But what do you mean 'talk'? Something serious? A wedding plan? An engagement? Or just a sip of chat?
The blue walls of the cafe welcomed my path with the aroma of coffee all along. Your eyes didn't look cheery but I didn't mind. Your smile didn't beam at me as it did before, but I didn't mind. You told me to order alone in the counter, but I still didn't mind. At this moment, my senses were frightened and my eyes were holding back everything that might flow.
"All of these were in a bind," you said, and gave me a letter, again, in a yellow colored paper. There might be someone else who dressed better, who cuddled tighter, who made your heart lighter. It said, 'Sorry, I fell out of love, you can find someone better'.
I was dressed with a finely embroidered violet gown, carefully hand-made with tears, surrounded by despair and finished with grief. On your wedding day, I tried to look nice and perfect. So that my unbearable sadness wouldn’t reflect. Then again as I slowly watch you smile as she walks down the aisle; I can’t help not to cry. I am no longer asking why. Violet perfectly describes gloom but perfectly makes you bloom. I realized that I shouldn’t mourn over your union but over the years of my devastation. I realized that it’s useless to weep and to sleep with the pain because it would remain. For it’s time to let you go. Accept that everyone come and go. More importantly free myself from your attachment even if it means shattering my heart into smaller fragments.
--- written with zhari