Colours

It was a patchwork evening, the smog of the day
blanketed the sky, foggy orange lights lit up
the sidewalk where we stopped. You taking cash
out of your wallet so I could get a ride home.
Me fiddling with my handbag despite knowing I
was out. You handed me a note that no one would
have change for with a look of forgiveness for
being so prepared. I know how to miss you
I wanted to say,  I know how vacant it will feel.
But I didn’t. Because when I run out of loose change,
to pay the cashier at the stationery store where
I went to buy four separate pens each of a specific
colour to scribble in my journal each night
reminders/happy notes/money spent/poetry
I think of how your memory is enmeshed in me
how I am adept at forgetting, how they must have
coined the word void. All my days and notes will
now be smeared with blue. They might as well.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: