She used to hate the colors
She didn't like the pinks and purples in the sky
or the tranquility of the grass under her feet
To her color was tainted, dirty, ugly.
She liked white.
White was pure, untouched
With white, she could start fresh.
She would wear the colors so she wouldn't look into the mirror
she didn't want to look at herself
like color, she didn't like herself, either
She enjoyed the cold
enjoyed the frigid chill that settled under her skin
To her the cold was peaceful, unpredictable
He never understood what she meant,
but she always meant something beautiful
She stood in the cold until he was there with her
she would wrap her arms around
and smile into his orange jacket, and say"you look beautiful is this color."
She'd sit in her car till the early hours
humming along to the deep sound of the acoustic guitar
or the melody be sung, "Bright Eyes"she said to him
"you remind me of Bright Eyes, Sad, but happy. Always smiling. I like that."
She had a way with words
She'd twist and wind word, in ways he never imaged
She says thing that make no sense
But he appreciate every word that dropped from her lips
because nothing sounded more gorgeous.
She was getting better
She'd look in the mirror a little longer and would touch the bright colors
Sometimes she would smile or nod in approval
or rip the clothe off in the search for something white, something pure
He'd sit in the grass with her
watch her aimlessly twirl grass through her fingers
eyes crinkling with happiness
He would sometime wish to know what went on in her head
He knew he'd be fascinated, he already was
She would pluck grass from the earth and hold it to his crisp green shirt and smile
She'd kiss him, run her fingers through his hair and up his arms
She'd push her forehead to his and mutter
"You remind me of Tranquility."
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