The color yellow splatters on the white porcelain.
The bristles flatten and slide down his cheeks as yellow lines replace tears that can't fall anymore.
The white walls cry and the yellow paint grows like Daisies.
The pedals fall, the white fades, and the beautiful yellow clumps like sand in water.

"And though I close my eyes I see La Vie En Roses" creeps from the record in the corner of the bathroom.
But he opens his eyes.
Yellow fills the tub and La Vie En Rose can't be true.

His hairs are matted down with yellow paint that grips his skin like concrete.
He dips his hands in the tub and smears the yellow paint into his skin.

The record scratches.

He exhales and paints drips from his nose and mouth.
The sound of paint dripping onto the floor from the tub haunts his heart.
He breathes in deep and sinks below the paint.

And for now everything is okay.

If he can forever remember the color yellow, he'll never cry again.

Her favorite color,

Yellow.