We painted the town red and in the deepest shade of red, wine-like, passion, blood-like. I liked the days where everything is not felt by my fingertips. Those days when everything is vivid and true and oh-so-real that no death could make me give in. Heaven knows I would hold on even if it takes every ties of my nerves to stay. No sleep and all out but we were on a high. The sun was still real and it shines out even at midnight, at 3.00 a.m.
Then, I started seeing blue.
Everything is a melt of the sky ceiling. That's the limit and I am falling and there is no ground and every colours I could see are just gritty.
Blue.
As postcards ink is not of it.
Blue.
Down the lazy afternoon of Sundays I spent letting go.
Blue.
The walls watching over me as I let my insides puke the hurt.
Blue, blue, blue.
Blue. The birds. Blue. The grass. Blue. The smiles. Blue. The shy brush of our hands that year. Blue. The months of fallouts. Blue.
I painted goodbye in such rosy colours, yet, I'm the one hesitant to walk away.
