I. He was 5'7" with bright eyes and smile so sunshiney like sommerset sky tinted with saturated pink hues. He was a summer sky, the kind of luxury I can't afford. They made us believe that everything is sad and inside of everything sad are salvagable parts that could be restored but I learned that some are more than that. He was sad, yes, but he was lively and lovely, both in the same time.
II. I once asked him what he's afraid of and I expected perhaps he'd say closed spaces or maybe darkness, heights, people, anything people usually fears but he just told me he once took a class where he learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it.
III. It was the end of April, I started taking anti-depressants and I said to him that I was falling in love. He throws his head back laughing and began to theorize how I was like Vincent Van Gogh eating yellow paint to feel okay. He said I was decaying inside and suggested I start eating yellow paint. I think he meant distraction. I started painting turbulent scenery with a lot of yellow paint.
IV. There would be nights where we get intoxicated by hazy thoughts and stay up until the sun rises. When I told him I liked the way his scent reminds me of vast meadow of lavenders blooming in wilderness, I never got to smell what lullabies sound like ever again.
V. He made me wonder hard if love is even supposed to be perfect. His gestures weren't grand, he wasn't an arrow through the heart, he wasn't that kind of love. His affection was like the changing of seasons. You don't know what or why everything has changed but there's no denying that it's been touched. It wasn't perfect but it might as well not be.
