Yellow and White

I used to organise the time I spent with people in colours. You used to be yellow and white- a warm haze of open arms coming to bring me to Heaven. But now you’ve merged into every colour there is, following me everywhere as I blend and move through the seasons and walk with figments of you in my head and on my tongue. I feel as though when people look at me they can see your shadow standing behind me. You forged yourself into my skin, into my eyes, my hair, my nose until I became a patchwork blanket of all our colours together. I couldn’t tell if you were real at all. I thought I could revert back to the way I was before meeting you, but I’m still left tracing the paths I could have taken. Every once in a while I grab my map and let my eyes explore all the ridges and valleys I could’ve walked with you instead of letting myself sink in the murky bay. I can again feel the hot, sticky air that hung in the corners of my body and made my will to stay fizzle and burn. I didn’t feel as though I had to burn my tongue and pull my hair trying to fill the spaces in our conversation because we would just soften and stretch into the quiet of night- two stars in the empty space above.