You stood there alone on a canvas beside the world. I poured the colors from my soul onto the page, but I always saved the best for you. Of the yellows, the gold belonged to you. The verdant of the greens were yours too. And the silvers from the whites, the teals from the blues; every orange sunset was saved for you. I never stopped bleeding. The cold mountain breezes, the cozy blankets on our emerald couch, the long embraces on Heath Street. Each memory added a new stroke. I made you radiant, and you greedily accepted.
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I remember when you were mine before you broke, before the hallucinations and depressions. When your world was falling apart, and I held you as you cried every night, you didn’t know that my world was ending too. And, when you disappeared, I was left with secondhand colors, and everything went dark. I made you the sun, the moon, and the stars. I made you mother, friend, and companion.
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I can’t wait to be with you again, wherever you are. I know you’re far far away now, and that you’re somewhere waiting for me. I’m still some bus stops away, but I am coming to you. For now, I just want you to know that I am an artist again. Now, I paint the world with every color. It’s so beautiful. I can’t wait to show you, I think you would really like it.
