Deep down I wanted to tell you that pink was my favorite color,
but deep,
deep down,
I knew what that would do to this
There was a time, once, when things were less than periwinkle in their demeanor, once, a time when we were infatuated with each other
There was a Friday night when you held me in your arms and I was confident that you wanted to see Sunday's sunrise in this same position
You told me that death was imminent for us, but you never indicated that you meant for this
There was ample time to tell me what you really needed to say,
when we took tracing paper and smocked the headstones, outlining our favorite epitaphs and hinting about how we would want the other to do should we be the first to be the red balloon
It was recently, but on a day that I cannot remember exactly, that I decided for many, if not infinite, reasons, you had wasted so very much of my time,
including, but not limited to the fact that you were fucking color blind---
This piece evokes sentiments of the commonly dichotomous theme of love and hate. Although, not surprisingly, in retrospect, the writer comes off as angry and contemptuous. I've also noticed a very intentional second person narrative in much of your writing. You seem to often address the reader in the form of a bitter letter. Love the image of the red balloon.
ReplyDeleteColor does make us see things differently. I hope that love is ultimately cold blind.
ReplyDelete