That summer night was drunken with maroon. It steeped in the darkness, the haze spreading into the light with its lazy tendrils. It was a choking color, a color to get lost in.
Until you arrived.
You arrived in your turquoise mist, clarity emanating from your steps, from the way your hair moved to the way your hips swung when you walked. It was hypnotizing against the summer backdrop, and it took no time for my indigo heart to be drawn to your aura.
And then you were turquoise and I was orange, and our hands dripped a green I had never seen before as our colors met. Every touch was yellow and every sigh red, and when I showed you the indigo heart I had kept hidden for so long, you smiled in emerald.
It wasn’t until you left and the world went white that I realized you never showed me your heart.
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If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all. (That means you, Darrell.)