you were always yellow, from the moment i met you. I think I was always red, full of intensity and passion. I’m the color of extremes. seduction and power, anger and danger. Made of a fire that you couldn’t put out inside me but you tried to be yellow and shine all of the light you hold trying to see through the darkness consuming me. the flames and smoke covered me and you pulled out my remains and my hands were covered in blisters as i cried asking you to help me find the parts i’ve lost. You’ve been burned too many times by me to be okay and i’m sorry for the scars i’ve left. you’re still the light in my life.

Imagine us bigger than the sounds we are too desperate to make. Quietly we break down the barriers that have been built between us since love knows no boundaries, surrounded by the ruins of forgiveness and bravery. Hands are calloused from the progression made helping us get here. Holy water is dripping from my eyes and I can only hear our names spoken like it’s the simplest mantras we use to calm ourselves down with. Alleviating the pain she carries, a woman capable of all four courses, using fire as a weapon, her hand around my wrist telling me I am air feeding her flames. The places her fingertips have touched still burn all over my body, places only her and I can see. Yet she still walks in beauty as I see parts of her everywhere I go, providing me with all that I need. Giving me a place to grow inside of her, as we are both the roots and the rose. Growth is a process. Patience is a virtue. Time is a concept I still struggle to grasp. Grounded when I am with her, on top of underneath her, whatever it is that I’ve acquire is because of her.

How long am I going to keep crying over this nostalgia?
Why can’t I just be happy thinking of my childhood without the feeling of bitterness consuming my body turning every happy memory into one that makes me tremble out of frustration?
I want to remember things without missing them.