Black,
I’ve not thought of you as merely a colour.
I’ve thought of you as absence, lack of, without…
You’re not final, like I’ve come to see, you’re not definite,
Already determined.
Absent, a picture that is yet to be completed, defined
in normalcy accepted by majority.
My favourite. I can never say it clearly how I look at you.
To me, you have never meant dark. You always meant space
to be filled by those deserving, those with colour bright enough to imprint
on you and leave a mark. Spot enough, strong enough its not swallowed by
the entity you embark.
You aren’t but might be, an attractive illusion that’s always
invited me to take a step further, embrace my beginning.
A strong statement is what you are, being a blank that’s to be filled with
memories capable of extinguishing you, yet strong in identity, capable of
absorbing any colours coming near you to remain the same without any
blemishes, any marks that might indicate memories came and went
light enough to leave a mark of their own.
There is no wrong match for you as I’ve come to know, it’s a matter of
which cannot be overwhelmed by what you are, which can take your
nature and maintain theirs at the same time, which can compliment
you impeccably, you shine and become a beauty no one could have
anticipated.
You’re like no other, in saying so, you are what I am called
Black.
