black.
A life with you would be a life of isolation, of breathing underwater. I’d never drown, you’d always revive me despite my screeches. You never seemed to hear what i was saying anyway.

Can love be mediocre? Can it be a lukewarm bath can it be a lukewarm pizza can it be an okay book? Is love love when you look in the future and see stagnancy? Love shouldn’t be grey, but my love for you was the purest shade of grey.

You claimed to know me well but you were still reading the owner’s manual. You were on page 14 of 400. You’d recite facts like i was a human periodic table. When i asked you to create new elements, you froze like i spoke latin.

white.
You came into my space. I checked into an asylum. The white walls, the white straitjacket was the only thing keeping me from jumping off the 22 floor. You demanded nothing from me and that was too much. If black is the absence of colour, why isn’t white nothing? I felt nothing. I felt too much.

We lived the same day over and over and over and over and over and over and over and so many times over i could fill this page. The setting changed but your tone never did. The day changed but my sadness never did. You never hear what i have to say.

grey.
I poke my head out of the ground like i’m a groundhog. I don’t see my shadow, spring comes early this year.