You painted the road with your eyes.
Through the endless colors and shadows, i see you everywhere.
In the brightest color, under the blinding sunlight and the wicked heat, you splash the road with your frowned lips—‘why is it so hot today’—and furrowed brows, in which i’d replied—‘that’s how it is’—almost too fondly, too revealing.
In the darkest color, under the flickering city lights and the frigid night, you stroke the road with your vulnerable gaze—‘i’m scared, of everything’—to which your fingers fidget unconsciously, i’d replied—‘it’s okay, you’re okay, you will be’—definitely too fondly, obliviously revealing.
In one of the very rare dull days, you’d painted the road with no colors at all that got me wondering if you knew i see the way you color the road and one day you stopped to paint and whispered instead—do not fall in love—i heard.
Now i see you and hear you everywhere, splashing black and grey on the road and whispered—do not fall in love with me, not me—over and over again.