I like you when you are blue: all sad and biting your lips as anxiety tugs at you and you decided to give in.
And,
It's hard to talk to you when you are yellow, all happy and smiling because you want the happiness to stay so you'd just listen to songs and walls up everything good and bad and push me away when you're happy but then it slowly creeps in and devour everything you had. I like your orange backpack because now I'm so sensitive to the colour. I turn my head each time I see orange at the back of my head. Imagining it's you. Hoping it's you but it's never you. I want you to realize that the person in the rearview mirror is closer than they appear to be because as you drive away to places nobody knows you, I'll spend my days talking up you with your ghosts. I'll decipher why you wanna run away and let you be when I just can't put my hands on it after quite sometimes.
I know
the castle that we dreamt of never appeared and instead, we got ourselves a wrecked home and maybe that's why you're running. Maybe you'll find a meadow the size of greens and freckled with daisies and you'll remember me, perhaps. But as you place your worn feet on it, I'll be someone else. Try to label me or yourself with red and purple and peach. You and I, we're just a flow of a lot of colours meant to blend together but we turned black and gritty. Lost in translation.
