Chasing Colors

I was looking at her. Trying to memorize her hair. The slope of her cheekbones. The arc of her lips. So after she was gone I could still see her. Paint her. Keep her.

She had a small braid that teased her left shoulder. She wore a pink blouse with a hood on it. There was yellow in every word. Orange in every kiss. Because yellow is caution. And orange is danger.

I was young and trying too hard to be masculine.

I was drawing pictures with my eyes closed. Stabbing the paper.

She always spoke in past tense even when she was referring to the future. She always saw the end in everything. She had long nails she'd paint different colors. She wore lacey, white bras under her pink, hooded blouses.

She was young and trying too hard to be feminine.

I was learning her body. Fumbling with her pleasure.

The darkness was purple when we were together. Because purple is the bruise.

We were young. Trying too hard not to be.

We were a rainbow. Because a rainbow promises, but never has a treasure at its end.